To Have and to Hold
by Vengeful
Summary: “But,” he said softly, taking a tentative step towards her, “perhaps we can attempt to change.” Placing a gentle hand upon her swollen stomach, he took a long breath. With a small smile, she let her hand rest upon his own. DASEY, historical AU
1. Prologue

**A/N: I really cannot believe that I am writing this. I honestly do not understand why this show actually makes me want to write seriously, rather than the crude and unfunny 'works' (I hesitate to use the word story, for I do not consider them to be such) that I have posted in the past. However, I have been grasped by that desire which urges us to write, and so, I have given in.**

**I must make this point: THIS IS A HISTORICAL AU. I know that it is inevitable that some ignorant fool will write an amusing review about this, yet I shall warn you anyways. Of course, a story of this nature warrants much explanation, and so, I must warn you that the author's note for this prologue will quite possibly be longer than the actual story for this update.**

**The time period is mid 19th century (or the mid 1800's), set in an English village. I HAVE done research for things that I am unsure of. I assure you that I am not randomly making things up to better suit my purpose. The only things that may be out of place are the names of the characters, a fact that I cannot (or, rather, will not) change. I have _some _respect for canon, after all. I will, however, be taking certain liberties. For example, Emily will probably not be mentioned, for she is black. I mean no disrespect; I simply wish to write the time period as accurately as I can.**

**Much of my knowledge on this time period is garnered from reading novels set in the period, written in the period. Thomas Hardy and Jane Austen and Charles Dickens are great influences (especially Hardy). That said, I also ask that you let me know if my writing becomes too archaic.**

**I enjoy reviews, as most others do. I do hope to know what is thought of this little venture of mine.**

**I hope you enjoy this-I certainly enjoy writing it!**

**Emily**

Disclaimer: I own nothing of what you see.

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_PROLOGUE:_

To dream of her wedding day is an instinct that is automatically found within a woman. She will think of the day with a certain tenderness unique to her sex. She will think of the man and the day and her gown, dreaming of her children and her duties. It is true that for some, the idea of marriage holds little appeal. However, it is generally acknowledged that those are anomalies, and for the most part, a woman will dream and scheme and do whatever it takes to make her dream come true.

Casey MacDonald was no exception to the desire to wed. Certainly, her dreams did not consist of many children, and of a strong husband like many other girls. Still, she expected that she would wed, and she would be happy. Her dreams were not, however, to be realized.

A bride does not think that she will wed in an ill-fitting gown; loose so as to hide the evidence that was forcing her into marriage. A bride expects to be smiling, her pale face marked by a maiden blush, on the day of her wedding. For the sad bride that stood before the village church, no blush crept up her face, no smile graced her lips, and she had no desire to walk the path that would lead to the end of her freedom.

The villagers had wandered over to the church, for such a scandal was bound to arise the attention of others. It is, after all, a well-established fact that people enjoy gossiping about those who have encountered grievous misfortune, and the situation that surrounded the girl and her betrothed was quite a scandal indeed. Upon seeing the banns announced, the people had begun their cruel observation. Whispers echoed around the girl, who subconsciously let her eyes fall to the cobblestone path that led up to the alter. The people had easily guessed the reasons behind the sudden betrothal; after all, the couple certainly was anything but normal, and the circumstances surrounding it could only mean one thing: the girl was, without doubt, with child.

Had anyone been watching from afar, they might have been led to believe that what they viewed was a funeral procession. The family watched the bride with stony eyes, the younger children shuffling their feet, whether from boredom or embarrassment, it could not be said. As for the bride, if not for the gossamer veil that fell over her pale face, one might have thought her a corpse. The groom, a young man of about eighteen, seemed to wish that he were anywhere else. He stared with unwavering somberness at the woman who walked towards him with all the alacrity of a funeral procession.

To say that what was occurring was instigated by some awful force would be a lie. Both bride and groom were, as they well knew, at some fault. After all, it was lust that dictated their actions, and now they were paying for such actions. It is strange, how a single moment of weakness can dictate the direction of one's life. Yet, such was the sad truth, for there was no denying her fate.

She slowly moved up the cobblestone path, raising her head, and meeting the dark eyes of her betrothed, the eyes of the son of the man her mother had married.

The eyes of Derek Venturi.

**A/N: Feedback is much adored, as is usual.**

**Postnote: I have changed, for continuity's sake, McDonald to MacDonald. I don't know which is right; I'll change it upon notice of the right spelling. My reasoning for the change, as of now, is quite simple:  
Mc is Irish, Mac is Scottish.  
While the Irish are cool, I like the Scots better  
Oh, and there's that whole "Irish question" about home rule thing going on, but then again, Scots were pretty much looked down upon as well in this time, so I guess that's not much of an excuse now, is it. **


	2. Chapter One

**A/N: First, let me thank all of you who reviewed this story. I was not, in any way, expecting such a response, and I cannot thank you all enough!**

**Now, I really meant to update this sooner. However, I was away for a week, and then, there was the research. Yes, research. I have spent many hours at my computer looking up every little detail, trying to recreate the time period as accurately as possible. I finally gave up, and went to the public library (note to all you kids: when research papers come along, save yourselves the trouble and use the library books. Trust me). So, I hope that I can live up to your standards, and that this chapter (and the remainder of the story) fits your expectations.**

**Oh, and be aware of strange dialect. I did say that this was to be as authentic as possible, after all. I have included a little glossery of sorts at the end, so if you should come upon a strange word, scroll down and you might find it.**

**Emily**

**Disclaimer: I own none of what you see. Really. **

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It had been decided before this somber ceremony that the new couple take up residence in the town of Dorchester, about forty miles from their current residence in Salisbury. Thus, after the ceremony, the newly wedded couple could be found at the railroad, waiting upon the train that would carry them away from the shame and lost hope that surrounded them in Salisbury, carrying them to a place where life could not possibly be of much improvement. Casey's mother, Nora, stood beside her daughter, allowing herself to give the young woman some final words of comfort before sending her off to what was bound to be a future of despair. By the mothers side stood the three younger children, looking up with solemn eyes at their older siblings, even the youngest one instinctively knowing that this was not the time to speak. 

Those meddlesome onlookers who had observed the wedding now stood observing the scene at the railroad. Casey could hear the voice of a young woman from the village voicing her own thoughts, and sending what she thought to be the best advice for one of Casey's situation.

"Now 'ee mind yourself. Tidden the end of your life, wedding that un. He med not the nicest chappie, but he is a handsome un," the girl said in her thick country dialect. Casey nodded, relieved to see the train approaching, thus saving her from the conversations and advice others would be sure to give.

Derek and his father stood further back, eyes trained on one another. It was in neither of their natures to share the long goodbyes so common to the softer sex. Rather, George merely motioned towards the pretty, dark-haired girl. "Mind her, and mind yourself. You mustn't allow yourself to squander your earnings at the pothouse." His son acknowledged the words, yet like his young wife, was saved from answering by the approaching train.

As the two found seats, they looked back out through the grimy windows, each, perhaps, saying their own goodbyes to the lives they had known for so long; and each reluctant to leave for a future brought about by their own thoughtless follies.

As the train now sped down the tracks, Casey looked past her husband, her mind mourning the loss of all she could have been. She was to have started at the Salisbury Training College, come that fall, a goal so cruelly out of reach to a person of her new situation. It was a shame that she had been born of the weaker sex, it had often been observed, for were she a male, her opportunities could have far exceeded those of many others around her.

Her new husband, Derek, did not possess that drive which is so often necessary to shape our futures. His life had been squandered away, his love of liquor and women governing his life. His actions thus far had been inconsistent with those of his fathers; his father was known to be a most generous man, working as the schoolmaster for the village school. The son had never shown such inclinations towards a career of such decency; rather, it was whispered that he would live his days rooming near the tavern, living amongst the poor and destitute, those who could scarcely be considered members of society.

This all was common knowledge, and people who watched them leave could not help but wonder if the young man could provide for his family, or if they would join those who lived like rats, destroyed by poverty.

* * *

They had, the week prior to this blessed even, purchased a small cottage on the outskirts of Dorchester. It had been insisted that it was imperative that they live in a home, for it was not right for a woman of Casey's condition to live elsewhere. Nightfall thus found the pair in their new abode. 

"We are married now," said Derek, looking over his young wife.

"Yes," she replied quietly. She turned to enter the second room, which she intended on making her own bedchamber. However, he stopped her, and she turned to look at him.

"As my wife, you now have certain duties that you must attend to." His voice was low, the tone making the girl tremble slightly. His dark eyes swept over her, and she stepped away from the man who towered before her, instinctively knowing that no good could arise from this situation.

"This will be a marriage on paper only, I assure you," she stated, understanding his intentions quite clearly. He took a step towards her, and she backed away. With a swift motion, he grabbed her wrist, pulling her closer to him.

"As your husband, it is my right to say what sort of marriage we should have. If I wish for you to reside in my bed, it will be so." His breath was warm on her skin as he kept her pulled close to him. She struggled against his hard grasp, attempting to dislodge her wrist from his grip.

"You touch me, and I shall scream 'force' to all who will listen. I shall tell them that you took me, took me as though I were some helpless creature." Her threats were empty, for it was a time in which claims of such weight were so often ignored, a fact both knew all to well.

"You lie, and you know it. You did not beg me to leave as I entered your bed, Casey. You did not tell me to stop. You were there, and you were the one who instigated it, were you not? After all, is it not the way of a woman to flaunt her charms, to ensnare the love of a helpless man? Perhaps it was I who was the victim of your charms. It is, afterall, the way of a woman to do whatever it may take to keep a man, and to force him into matrimony."

"How dare you suggest that I could be capable of such trickery! I certainly do not wish for this to be my life, nor have I ever wished for such a thing. You haven't the right to accuse me, for I was…"

"You were what? You were pure? You were pure and youthful, and I pulled you down. Is that what you wish to believe? Does it make you feel any better, fooling yourself into this belief that you were never to blame? You are a woman, and it is just like one of your kind to conceive some foolish notion of lost innocence. You know, just as I do, that I never forced you."

She stood tall, lifting her chin in an act of defiance. "I do not fear you," she said, meeting his eyes. "You will not hurt me. It is not in your nature. I am not one of your whores, and I shall not cower at your words." He stared at her, his hand still grasping her wrist, his face distorted.

"Perhaps you should." With these words, he released her wrist, pushing her roughly away from him. Despite her confident stance, Casey felt herself shrink away from him. In all the time that she had known him, she had never known him to possess such strong emotions. When he had learned of her condition, when he had learned that they were to marry, at neither time had she truly believed him capable of violence. However, as she looked at the dark countenance of the man that stood before her, she knew that his words rang true. At this moment, were she to further anger him, he would not hesitate to hurt her.

It may be said that he too knew this, for his expression seemed to change as he kept staring at her. "You may leave. I shall not share my bed with someone so unwilling." She did not hesitate to obey him, and she left. As she reached her own room, she closed the wooden door behind her, and sunk to the floor, trying to quell the fear that her husband had instilled in her.

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**A/N: I hope that this was up to your standards. I hope that the next chapter will be up much sooner. If you have any questions, or wish to question a historical detail, please, feel free to contact me. Please, comments are much loved :)**

**Emily**

Glossary:

The following is taken from the 1998 Penguin Classic edition of Thomas Hardy's _Jude the Obscure_ (great book-if you like this, read it).

'ee- (dialect) you.

Tidden- (dialect) it isn't

Un- (dialect) him

Med-(dialect) might

Mind- (dialect) take care

Chappie- (colloquial) fellow

Pothouse-ale-house (or, a modern day bar)

Hope that this is of some help!


	3. Chapter Two

**A/N: ****Glossary at the bottom, so feel free to look. As always, I love reviews, so please, keep them coming.**

**Thanks and enjoy**

**Emily**

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine.**

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The first fortnight of their union, the two lived together in manageable silence. They seldom saw one another, meeting only at meals. Derek would quickly eat the meager rations given to him by his wife, before he would leave for town, where he had found a home in need of a man of his skill; that is to say, an architect. As for Casey, she would manage the home, setting up a small garden, for she had little else to do. She had sent away for some books, in desperation in the first week of their marriage. 

It was inevitable that the two strong personalities of the two would, in time, clash in an unavoidable confrontation. The tension from their first night as husband and wife blanketed the cottage, filling the room whenever the two were near each other. He had scared and angered her, and, in a way, scared himself as well. Never before had Derek felt himself to be capable of such an act of violence. Yet, he had nearly found himself forcing his young wife into his bed; this was an act that even Derek found himself to be above.

It was a time in which the village flourished, and the small shops were a merry place for the people of the town to go and see one another. Casey had yet to make an appearance amongst those who inhabited the town, causing much speculation on the nature of the handsome young architect's wife. Thus, when Casey and Derek appeared at the market place two weeks after they had wed, the tongues of the people were set wagging.

"My sister heard they be related by marriage already," said one young woman.

Her companion nodded. "They not be happy, that is certain. My brother says her young man comes nightly to the pothouse. Says he leaves knocked-up." The two women exchanged knowing looks. It was often the case that marriages of convenience were the most miserable.

"I hev heard," whispered another female, "that she be with child."

"A chap o' wax, that un. Marrying a woman in such a condition," said another.

Casey held her head up, stealing glances at her husband every so often. He did not seem to be bothered by the surrounding chatter.

"I am glad to see that you have already invited much talk," she said softly. The man beside her said nothing.

"Ah! Mrs. Venturi, I presume?" A small man rushed out of one of the many shops, a smile upon his broad face. It took Casey a moment to realize that she was the one to whom the man spoke.

Derek nudged her. "Don't stand there in such a gawk-hammer way, my dear."

Casey took the shopkeepers hand. "You are correct in your presumption."

"Yer lady be a nice un, sir. She deserves a nice dress. May I offer…" he trailed off, finding the couple had left.

"Derek! You need not be so crude. You speak as though you are one of those wretched people," Casey admonished as he pulled her away.

"Ah, perhaps I am. After all," he said, leaning close to her, his breath warm against her ear, "you surely know that I'm not worth a varden."

"I know what you are, and that you may never be a decent man. I ask only that you allow for our appearance to stay above that of the commoners."

"It is not your place to say how we shall be viewed by these people. I shall do as I wish, and you shall have no say." Casey did not wish for those around them to notice the fight, and so decided to simply stay quiet. A cruel smile graced her husbands face. "'Tis very well that you stay quiet, my dear. You wouldn't want these people thinking us to be common."

The two walked on, the eyes of those around them continuing their gaze.

"There be the new folks."

"Where?"

"The twanking young woman. A pretty little thing."

"Aye. And the bruckle young man be her husband, I suppose."

Casey stoically stood as she and her husband endured the whispers. It was not her place, she knew, to fix what reputation they could have. Derek had, from what she had thusly observed, largely influenced it already. She should have known that such a place would have had a largely negative impact on him. His language, already rough, had adapted the sound of the lower-class villagers. His work was not prosperous, and she feared that he had already spent most of his earnings at the local pothouse.

Derek himself was aware of his wife's unhappiness. He too felt the weight of past decisions descending upon them. He wondered if they could ever atone for the weighty sins they had so recently committed. Certainly, it would take more than a marriage and daily prayer. Thus said, he had come to the decision that perhaps it did not matter what he did.

Two people, both miserable in their own way. The distance between them was clear to all that day in the market. As they strolled along, looking at the booths, they seemed so distant. As they passed the others, their eyes held a hate, seldom seen since an incident with the former mayor and a lover a year or two prior.

They only stopped once more, as Casey spotted a pair of white doves.

"Poor creatures!" she exclaimed.

"Why?" Derek inquired, stroking the white feathers through the cage.

"They live their lives caged, having no freedom."

"Perhaps it is their duty to live as such. They have no other choice."

"They are controlled! They haven't the freedom to know anything else."

"As it should be." Derek then turned to the man who was selling the birds. "I will take the birds, if you please. It would seem my wife has taken a liking to them."

They arrived at their own home as twilight started to blanket the green countryside. Derek hung the caged birds in front of a window, where they could see the light of day, and feel the sun. Casey watched her husband's actions.

"Why?"

"Why did I buy these birds?"

"Yes. It seems not in your character."

"Perhaps I bought them to give you something to do while I am away. Women, I suppose, need distractions, too." The statement itself was unusually kind for the man, and Casey found herself starting to smile.

"Thank you…"

"Or, perhaps I bought them to remind you."

"Remind me of what?"

"Of what you are. They too are captives. They are unable to see freedom. We are their masters, Casey, just as I am yours. You may see the sun, see the outdoors, but you will never again be a part of this world. Your life now lies within these walls, dictated by the child, and by myself."

"Derek," she whispered, her voice fearful. Since their marriage, the usually distant man had lost any of the decency that once was found within him. There had been a time when he had been almost kind, at times. Now, she could not see any trace of the man she had once known. The man that stood before her was not a boy, who's mischief often troubled him. It was now a man, or rather, a monster, that towered over her, his countenance devoid of any trace of kindness or emotions.

"Don't be afraid, my pretty wife. I will not hurt you."

"What happened? You were once…"

"I was once kind, gentle? I never possessed that decency that so many other men claim to have."

"When you…" she faltered, pausing to regain her composure. "When you once held me, you were gentle," she finished softly. He stared down at her, contempt visible in his gaze.

"Yes, I was. Just as I am now gentle as I hold the whores of the pothouse." He turned, walking towards the flimsy door. "I am leaving now. You should not expect to see me back tonight."

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**A/N: So, yes…about the characters… what can I say? I like angst, I suppose. Actually, I have a whole list of reasons for doing what I did, none of which you are probably interested in. As always, please feel free to ask questions, and review! I love feedback :)**

**And now, the glossary. All definitions are taken from the Penguin Classics edition of Thomas Hardy's _Jude the Obscure_, and from the Barnes & Nobles Classics edition of Thomas Hardy's _The Mayor of Casterbridge_.**

Knocked up (dialect): Intoxicated

Hev (dialect): Have

Chap o' wax: good man

Gawk-hammer: idiotic

Varden: farthing

Twanking: miserable

Bruckle: rough


	4. Chapter Three

**A/N: Interest in this story appears to be waning. As your interest wanes, so does mine. I listen to reviews. Really. I had a request for longer chapters, and this is about 1000 words longer. Moral of the story is review: it makes me happy.**

**Now that I have gotten my rant out, thanks to those who did review. It does mean a lot.**

**This chapter is much longer, which I hope will be to your liking. However, I must warn you that there is a lot of dialect that is not quite familiar. So, I suggest looking at the glossary first, to make things a bit easier.**

**I am also looking for a beta. Contact me through review, PM, or email if you are interested.**

**Finally, this is the last update for a couple of weeks. I am leaving Tuesday, coming back Saturday, and leaving again Saturday until Thursday. Sorry, duty calls.**

**I hope you enjoy this chapter. Please, reviews of all sorts are much loved **

**Emily**

**Disclaimer: I own none of what you see.**

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An uneasy silence passed between the obscure couple following that night in which so many words were said. Derek spent his time at work, taking whatever jobs came his way. It became a necessity that he stay away from his wife, for the distance between the couple was such that it was near impossible for them to be near one another. 

It was three months after the incident when Casey found her way to where Derek had currently found work, ashlaring an old hotel in the town. She stood for a moment, watching her husband work, before he finally noticed her.

"What are you doing?"

Casey shifted her weight, leaning against the wall to support herself. The evidence of her condition was now quite visible, despite her attempts to hide it with her ill-made dress.

"I come only to see what it is that you do. We haven't had enough to earn our living in a long time, and I felt it 'twas fair that I understood why."

Wiping his brow, Derek turned to his wife. "You have seen that I work. You shall now leave me to myself."

"Derek, we need the earnings that this provides. We have scarcely enough to furnish the home. We are living on farthings."

"You might have told me this at our home. You needn't come here."

She was quiet, prompting him to soften his expression. "Casey, you are not needed here. 'Tis not a place for you to be."

Her eyes fluttered shut before opening again to stare at him. "You are correct. I suppose I shall now be taking my leave."

Derek watched her as she walked through the dusty space, tenderly lifting her skirts up as she danced around the puddles, evidence of a recent storm. He wondered just what had prompted his young wife to seek him out; it was, after all, an unspoken agreement between the pair not to see one another unless called for by necessity.

"Venturi! Back to work!" Derek knew better than to defy the demands of his master; pulling his hat further down, so as to shield himself from the rays of the sun, he turned back to the job at hand.

* * *

Casey wandered aimlessly through the town following her visit with her husband. Loneliness had forced her out of her home, and towards her husband. She had little to do, for her days were long, and filled with no company. Thus, she now walked down the cobbled stone streets, her gaunt face gazing at the people around her. 

One may suppose that their isolation is evidenced by all who surround them; certainly, it is true that the lonely have an air that lends itself to special notice. It is in their postured, in their countenance. They are the ones who the world has forsaken, and they wear their hardships upon their faces.

The loneliness had induced in Casey a sort of skewered perception of the town. She looked upon the venders with a sort of innocent curiosity, as though she had never before witnessed such things. She traveled the streets in this haze, beholding all the sights around her as though for the first time. The man who sold his meat, he was a cold monster who beat his young wife; the woman who sold clothes, she was a wife who showed her husband little love. Each person whom Casey encountered had been distorted into a monster of some sort; their cruelty written upon their faces.

Across the street, the mayor's wife exited a small dress shop, her face bright. The young woman looked serene as she led a small child by the hand, resting her other hand upon her swollen stomach.

Casey felt an intense hatred towards the woman, and hurried along.

The town of Dorchester was founded in the time of the Roman Empire, and thus, still holds the vestiges of the majestic society that once occupied it. The streets wind past the old market places, and the old road, a reminder of a society lost to corruption and time. Casey felt the ghosts of the past as she traveled down the streets once tread by the Romans, and felt the pain that once had isolated their grand society. She was directed, in her haze, to the doors of an old church, though she could not quite recall which one it was.

At the alter was an intricately carved figure of Jesus, face stern, arms outstretched. She knelt before it, head bowed in humble submission. The lurid glow of the lit candles surrounding him reflected in the gloom of the church, casting its light upon her body. Casey could hear the whispers of the saints, their damnation audible in the grave gloom.

"I pray thee, give me your forgiveness!" she cried. The figure kept his glance steady, his judgment already decided. In desperation, raised her hands towards the towering Lord. "I offer thee all I have, for all I want is your salvation!"

The eyes stared down at the girl, and she felt the judgment of all that was holy. The cold words of Hell fell around her, and her head fell to the cold floor, kissing the ground, praying for atonement of her sins.

Around her, the ghosts of what might have been haunted her. Oh, the childish voices she heard in the streets; oh, the faded image of her lost father, how he stared in shame upon her being; oh, the youths who went to do what they had been destined to do, how she mourned their freedom, and the loss of her own. She pulled herself off of the cold ground, covering her face with her hands, shielding herself from the images that echoed in the sepulchral gloom of the cavernous church. She ran down the aisle, caring not that her pale dress was now stained with the dust of ages past. She had to escape the sounds, the despair, the anger, and the damnation found within the intricate carvings of that church.

* * *

Outside of the morbid church, dusk had fallen over the town, and Derek Venturi was making his way out of the building in which he had been so recently visited by his wife. 

"Venturi! Is you coming with us to the pothouse?" came the calls of his fellow workers. Derek nodded, for he felt no responsibility for the well being of the woman he had been forced to marry.

There were, at the time, several different places one could go for drinks. Scattered throughout the town, they represented the standings of those loyal patrons. There was the hotel in the center of the town, where those who held high standings gathered. There was the place that those of the middle class often gathered. Then, there was the last.

In the bowels of the town stood the tavern visited by Derek. It was located in the midst of the lowest members of society, standing as their own meeting place. It was the cave that race of peasants and farmers and workers who lived their lives in perpetual debt, and wallowed away in their misery. It was a place where the music played loud, the patrons rowdy and always ready for a brawl.

To be seen in this abode was to care not for ones appearance. When one entered this place, he was unburdened by all guises of respectability he might have possessed, and what was left was the true colors of the man, for it is true that it is in drink that a man shows his nature.

The farmers and peasants that called this tavern home had, by this time, become well acquainted with Derek. He entered to their drunken greetings, finding a seat by a pretty young bar maid.

"I'll have a six o' brandy," he said, smiling at the girl. The girls cheeks were already flushed red, and she winked as she hurried about to fill his request.

"Yer lady be visiting 'ee at work today," a fellow mason said, addressing Derek.

"Aye. Rafted my work, too. She come rowing me on my bibbing," he replied, taking a skinful of drink.

"Wishing 'ee to bring her more earnings?" questioned a journeyman, who had stopped by the place, enticed by the promise of degenerate souls.

"That she is."

"Ah, I say ignore the twanky girl," yelled a farmer, who sat in the corner, his arm positioned around a ruddy-faced hussy.

"She be waiting upon me, and she will see how I mind her when I come to her lumpering along, knocked up," Derek said, laughing.

The matter, as is so often the case, was soon after abandoned, taken up by the chorus of a popular ballad.

* * *

The area that surrounded the pothouse was not one that a person would wish to be near. How many feet had dragged themselves upon that path that Casey now tread? How many degenerates had walked this path as they concocted ways to end their misery? How many women of loose morals had stumbled along, grasping the arms of their drunken men, singing their merry tunes? The tired, the poor, the hungry, and the desolate all tread the path that led through the willows and the river, past the small huts and hungry families, all to that glowing structure, wherein the same people found their Eden. 

The wooden door opened, the audible creak attracting the attention of several near by patrons. Casey walked in, supporting herself on the old door, peering around the jocular atmosphere of the pothouse. A few men noticed her, and made a motion to quiet down amongst themselves, knowing there was bound to be a disruption of some sort between the pale young woman and her husband.

One noticed that Casey had lost the maiden blush once found upon her cheeks; her face, gaunt and pale, carried the sins that she had so recently been acquainted with. She felt the judgmental eyes upon her, but carried herself as tall as she could.

"Venturi, your wife be here, " a man shouted to Derek. To his wife who stood by, he whispered, "she be a hontish girl, that un."

"Aye," said his wife, a thick robust woman. "I see her is the town, and she look at me like I be some zany hussy! I tell 'ee, 'twould be a smart thing, to teach the girl a lesson. She be no better than us. Aye, I see her wambling about."

"Well, he cannot overlook her tonight, coming in her all twanky and such. He must teach her better. 'Twill be quite well to see the lady toppered."

As they talked, Derek found his wife, fighting through the throng of people, looking at him, eyes dark with defiance.

"Derek, I was told I would find you here. I wished for it not to be so, but it would seem it is true."

"You seem to be following me, my dear wife. Do you wish for my company," he leered.

"We are leaving. You know quite well that we don't have the money for you to spend. Nor shall I allow you to spend your life amongst these common swine."

Attention had turned towards the bickering couple, for there is little else that such people love more than a public brawl between man and wife.

"Leave now, Casey. This is no place for you."

"You are my husband, and I will not have our name slandered! We are to be respectable people; that is why we came here. Yet, you come to this place, and lower yourself, lower me, wallowing in the filth and the whores and the commoners."

"You have no say in what I do, I have told you so."

"Do you care nothing for respectability? We have sinned, Derek, and we may finally make amends for what we have done. How can you stand here, looking upon your wife, heavy with your child, and spend the money necessary for survival?"

"We are jowned, Casey. There is nothing we can do, for our sins are far weightier than you seem to realize. Why, then, should we cower away, with our hoity-toity air, our 'respectability,' as you so call it? There is nothing we can do, for our fate is already determined. So, I shall enjoy my life, sinning my life away amongst these friends of mine. What is another sin, after all? As a man, I will enjoy my life. I care not what you do."

"You are no man. You are a weak coward, afraid to face me."

The sound of the slap turned the attention away from the cheap liquor, as all turned to look at the girl who stood trembling before her husband, her cheek reddened from his force.

"You shall not come in here, belittling me in front of all. 'Tis not your right, nor your privilege, and I will not stand for your defiance. You are my wife, and you best start acting as such."

"You…you…"

"Oh, do not look so taken aback, my love. You come here, believing yourself to be better than all the rest, what with your sixth standard training, your Latin and grammars. You say that I spend my time amongst this degenerate society, spending my time with filth. Yet, you married me. So what does that make you, my dear wife? I am your husband, and I will do as I like. You best be glad that I have control, for a lesser man might take you right here, for all to see, like a common hussy."

She looked as though she had thought to say something, but seemed to think better of it. Rather, she turned, and raising her head as high as she dared, pushed her way out of the crowded room.

"Derek, ye med wish to keep your lady company, and escort her home. 'Tis no place for a lady like she to be about at this time." Derek turned to his fellow mason, a young man by the name of Sam.

"Ah, you see she is quite rusty. I doubt she will allow for my guidance."

"Then perhaps I shall go and keep her company," Sam said, rising from his seat.

"No. 'Tis my duty to keep her out of mischty," Derek said, heading towards the door.

Outside, the air had cooled, and Casey wrapped her thin arms around her body. Derek's footsteps were audible, and she turned to see who followed her.

"It is only I, your dear husband," Derek said, smiling down at her. She turned and kept her pace, paying no attention to the man beside her.

"I need not your company," she finally said.

"You do. 'Tis no place for a lady such as yourself. Nay, not a lady of such niceness."

"You mock me."

"I do." After a moment, he spoke again. "You are cold."

"I am fine."

"Had I a coat to lend, I med just do so." They were silent. Finally, Derek said, "I will not apologize for my actions. I have done what is my right. You made a fool of me, so I had to respond. You could stand to be brought down off of your silver chair, after all."

"If you will not give me the words necessary for my forgiveness, I shall not give my thanks for your walking me home. It is, after all, your duty as husband to accompany his pregnant wife to their home."

So, they walked. An uneasy truce was formed, he to forgive her for her actions, and she to forgive his. Neither could have truly repented their actions, for to ask such a thing was to ask for one to be the weaker. Though Casey was of the weaker sex, her will was strong, and she knew that perhaps they were both damned, but she would not live her life as her husband did. Nay, her life would be lived out as best as she could. Perhaps, she would find the salvation she so desperately needed.

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**A/N: Ah, he is a bastard, isn't he? I have my reasons. I think. Please, tell me what you think. I do love reviews of all sorts. And remember-I am looking for a beta. Please contact me if you can help me out here.**

**Emily**

**Glossary:**

Ashlaring: applying masonry facing to walls

Six o' brandy: sixpennyworth of brandy

Rafted: disturbed

Rowing: scolding

Bibbing: drinking

Skinful: a good deal of drink

Twanky: moody, disgruntled

Lumpering: stumbling along

Hontish: haughty

Zany: fool, idiot

Wambling: stumbling

Toppered: humbled

Jowned: a mild form of 'damned'

Rusty: restive, obstinate

Mischty: mischief

Sixth standard training: in the Victorian age, standards were used in application to how much a student knew. So, the sixth standard would call for the person to know how to read a short paragraph from a newspaper or other work, how to write another short paragraph from a paper or other work, dictated word by word, and know how to do math, such as sums in practical usage. The sixth standard was the highest one.


	5. Temptation: Part I

**A/N: So, folks, here it is: the long awaited start of the beginning! I have had several people mention that they would love to see how Casey and Derek got to where they are. I too wished to see that. I have decided that the past will be posted in three parts; each part intermixed within the story. So, there will be a chapter here, a chapter there. I do this because the pairing is such that it is difficult to write a truly convincing history in one chapter. Casey and Derek do not easily lend themselves to:**

**"OMG! You are, like, hot!" "OMG! Let us have sex!" followed by:**

**Insert A into B. Pump until one or both parties see stars. Repeat as necessary.**

**So, three parts (at least as of now), it is.**

**This is a bit lighter than the previous chapters. And…there is actually some real Dasey here. Oh, just sexual tension, but still…**

**So, without further ado, I present Temptations: Part I. The time is about three or four years prior to their current situation.**

**I hope you enjoy. Don't forget to leave a review, telling me if you loved it (or hated it. It doesn't really matter). Oh, yes, and if anyone want a job as a beta, please, leave me an email or a PM or a review. Thanks!**

**Emily**

**Disclaimer: I don't own this.**

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**Please note that the following chapter occurs nearly four years before the rest of the story.**

It is the nature of a woman to flaunt herself before men, giggling and flirting from afar, using her coquettish charms to tempt the man she wishes to be noticed by. It is her nature to flush, and turn her head away, allowing all to glimpse at her maidenly blush, when a man deems her worthy of his affection. Just as it is her nature to tempt, it is in his nature to choose and seduce the fairest maiden. There is, perhaps, in the mind of the brutish man, nothing quite so beautiful as that of a fresh girl, and the prospect of a smear that may be left upon her previously white canvas.

Of course, it is never easy to seduce a maiden. Perhaps, this is where the adoration shown by so many young men lies. After all, is it not the same as hunting, the seduction of the pure? A man sets his mind upon his target, and softly follows it around, gaining an understanding of its habits. When the creature, be it beast or maiden, is most unsuspecting, or perhaps most trusting, he will make his move, ruining the life of his prey.

It was mid-September. Dorset County is of old growth forests and green farmlands. Long ago, upon a narrow path that sat sheltered by the thick canvas of trees near Salisbury, Romans and great men tread; now, in the age in which the story is placed, it served as a path for those people so insignificant, to all but themselves and their kin. The fall had transformed the blanket of trees, painting them in the warm hues of oranges and reds and browns. The sun peered through the trees, illuminating a girl who walked upon the path, clutching a parcel to her chest, a look of contentment lighting up her countenance.

The girl was perhaps in her fifteenth year, no older, certainly. Looking at her, it was clear to any passerby that she was not of the lower class. She stood erect, rather than the hunched and defeated posture so common to those of the lower class. She had not been crippled, as they had been, by the work in the fields, nor defeated by the burden of poverty and hopelessness. Her hands, were one to see them, were not callused, but smooth, her skin pale, not tanned from hours in the fields. Her dress, a simple white frock, was made with care, though it possessed none of the fanciful ribbons that adorned the gowns of the upper class ladies in that day. Her glossy hair was pinned neatly up under her equally simple cap, and from her plump lips, she softly sang an old ballad, sung with the pure innocence of a young maiden. However, in her gait, there was not the certain stride that was so telling of the young ladies of the upper class. She trudged along, devoid of cart and grand horses that would have otherwise carried the fragile female.

Suddenly, as she walked beneath the towering oaks, she caught sight of another figure walking towards her. She paused, allowing herself to gaze upon the newcomer. Upon seeing his face, the song died from her lips, her face contorting into a look of disgust.

It was a boy, about her age. He seemed to be the mixture of upper and lower class; he carried himself not erect, like the girl, but with the arrogant swagger of someone who has all they need, and who knows that they are entitled to whatever they so desire. However, his clothes were not of the high quality material. They were dirtied with dust that came from spending time around masonry; his hands callused from the heavy work. His skin was tanned, a sure sign of one who, at the time, was a worker.

The girl paused, as though deciding what she wished to do now. It was evident that she did not wish to see the boy; however, he had seen her, and was hurrying towards her, a smile on his confident face.

The boy was handsome, it was often noticed. With strong features, and his strong build, it was often thought that he would one day make a good husband for any girl. That is, if he could ever aspire to be someone. Thus far, however, he had shown no inclination towards any serious work, and it was generally agreed, with much lamentation on the part of the mothers, that he would never be suitable for their young daughters.

"My pretty sister!" greeted the boy as he reached her.

"Derek," she said in return.

"It is not proper that a girl like you should be wandering around this area alone," he said, a sly grin now playing upon his lips.

"I was just returning from town. Your father wished for me to pick up some books. As for proper, I have yet to see you perform any actions that hint of an inclination towards a care for how we are viewed."

The boy, Derek, shrugged, and replied, "Casey, my dear, 'tis too pleasant out to have such a weighty talk. Shall we walk a bit? May I relieve you of your burden?" He took the package from her arms before she could voice any sort of protestations. Cradling the package under one arm, he linked his arm with that of the girl, Casey's.

"You are not my brother," she said, wrenching her arm away from his grip. She looked up at him coldly. "I do not need you help, nor do I need your protection."

He laughed. "Oh, yes, I forgot. You are one of those 'independent women,' yes? I suppose that along with your beliefs, you are endowed with the strength of a man, and the ability to protect yourself as a man may do?"

"I am fine as it is. You have no reason to help me, and I shall not play into whatever motive you may have."

"You speak so coldly to your own brother!"

"You are the son of the man my mother married. And I speak honestly."

"Such a pretty girl, you are. I suppose you are unaware of what danger a pretty girl can get into?" He leaned close to her, his mouth near her ear. "Just what kind of man may wish to ravish such a young maiden? Why, tales have surfaced of girls like you being with child after a walk in the woods."

"Please, step away from me," she said, her voice hushed and trembling.

He did so, once again offering her his arm. "Shall we walk on, then?"

Cautiously, she placed her smaller arm in his large one, standing as far away from him as she could, but allowing him to escort her back to their home.

The home that had become inhabited by the recently formed family sat on a street in the outskirts of town. It was simple, standing alongside a row of other such homes. Two entrances, one in the front, one in the back, allowed the large family to come in and out of the home, onto the street. The back door opened onto a small courtyard, where the clothes of those who lived in this home dried, and a small garden, planted by the lady of the house, flourished. The front entrance opened up into a small parlor, which was certainly the most remarkable thing of the home. Decorated with care, it exhibited a small sofa of a deep burgundy, with two chairs of similar color sitting beside it, around an oak table. A small piano sat in the corner, music placed on a nearby stand, seemingly forgotten. A few paintings were hung above the cream walls, and lace curtains were opened as to allow for the afternoon sunlight to trickle in, reflecting off the polished floor in the entrance way.

In the back, there stood the kitchen, where their maid, a young girl by the name of Emily, lived and worked. The family, on special occasions, and always for Sunday dinners, would sit around the oak table, polished on those nights by Emily. The second floor was where the family lived, consisting of four rooms.

The new siblings entered their small home upon this fine day, finding their siblings in the parlor, for there was little else for them to go, as space was not a commodity in their home. A young girl with dark hair looked up, breaking into a smile. The resemblance between the two girls was striking, at once revealing their relations.

"Casey! We was worried for you," she exclaimed.

"We were worried," corrected her sister, who had taken up a job as a student teacher with her new father.

"I apologize, for I fear our tardiness was my fault," said Derek, addressing the young girl, Elizabeth.

"I suppose it is always your doing," interrupted a boy, about the same age as the younger girl. He looked up from a small wooden board on the ground, seeking approval from the older boy who was evidently his brother.

"Aye, Edwin," Derek replied simply, casting Casey a sly glance. She did not speak, however, for she found that Derek had suddenly been approached by a small figure, who flung herself into his arms, her wooden doll lying forgotten on the Oriental carpet.

"Derek!" she exclaimed, wrapping her chubby arms around him as well as she could.

"Hello, my dear Marti," he answered, kneeling down to hold his youngest sister.

Casey herself had gently sat down upon the sofa, placing her parcel upon the table.

"Oh, Casey, may you read," asked her sister.

"Of course, Lizzie. Derek, will you hand me the novel from the shelf?"

Derek looked at the pretty girl for a moment, his dark eyes appraising her from his position. He finally retrieved the leather bound item, and handing it to her, their hands brushed, the tingle from that touch lingering long after the contact had been broken.

It so chanced that the next morning, Derek happened to be traveling the same way as Casey.

"I shall accompany you on your journey," he said as he walked along side her.

She turned her pretty head, looking at his handsome face. "I have told you that I wish not for your company."

"Why is this, my dear sister? Do I make you nervous?"

"It is not you that I fear; rather, it is your company that is so distasteful."

Derek studied her face. Despite her words, fear was evident in her fine features. Derek recognized this mixture of fear and hate and something that he could not quite identify; it was a look she often had when she was along with him. Her feelings intrigued him. What was it about him that made her feel such fear? Did she fear that he would take advantage of her? After all, they had only been siblings for a few months. Yet, for such a thought to enter her mind meant that a notion had been planted there.

He looked at his new sister as he looked at the young maids in the village, or as he looked at the girls who worked the fields all day, in their tight gowns and loose bonnets. A certain attraction had manifested itself in his mind, and he wondered idly if she recognized that in him; certainly, that would account for her discomfort.

It pleased him, to know that he had this power over her. Young men, it is true, prize their strength, and the affect that they may have on the unassuming female. It is, after all, a true testament to their masculinity, to attract the passion of one of the fairer sex.

They were stopped now, he looking at her, she glaring at him. Slowly, he reached towards her face, brushing a stray strand of hair and tucking it under her bonnet. She stood quite still at his attentions, her breathing slowed, her body quivering under his hands. His hand lingered at her cheek for the briefest moment, before he broke the spell, backing away from her.

"What is it that makes you so uncomfortable, my sister?"

"Please, I beg of you to stop calling me that."

"I meant you no offence; I merely thought it proper to speak of what you are," he replied. However, both were aware that he addressed her using a tone that spoke not of a brother to a sister, but of a man to his lover.

"Derek, I need not your company. Please, allow me to take leave of you."

"Always so polite, Casey. Again I ask you what is it that makes 'ee fear me? Is it my manner of speaking? I suppose 'tis not as polished as your own voice, though I would hardly call myself a country peasant."

"Derek, I wish not for us to have this conversation. It is not right that we are seen as such."

Derek leaned close to her, once again, whispering in her ear, "do I make you nervous? Do you fear that my intentions may not be so innocent?"

Casey shivered as he gently pressed his lips to her ear. He pulled them away, once again leaving the sensation grazing her skin.

"You are my brother now; I fear not for my innocence, nor do I fear for my reputation."

He nodded soberly. "All right; you wish for me to leave you, and so I shall. I simply ask that I be allowed a small kiss, as a brother to his sister. Come, my dear sister, surely you will not deny me the honor of bestowing my familiar affection upon the fine cheek of my kin?"

She paused. "Will you allow me to be alone, if I allow for this?"

"Of course," he answered, without hesitation.

She turned her cheek, allowing him to softly press his lips to the rosy blush that painted her fine cheek.

"You see? I should not take advantage of you. I merely wish to be permitted the time I wish to spend with my new sister. After all, we shall be sharing the same home for some time, I believe you will agree?"

She nodded.

"Fair you well, my dear," he called out cheerfully as she turned to walk away. "I wish for another meeting soon."

She did not look at him; rather, she hurried her pace.

Perhaps it is so that women are gifted with an ability to know when they have captured the fancy of a young man. It is true that the coquettish girl so often targets one who she knows will return her youthful affections. It may be that she is far too knowledgeable as to the extent of her charms; that is not a desirable trait in a girl, to be sure, but it is so common in these days of sin.

Casey, though not one to use her charms to enchant a man, may have been aware that she had unwittingly captured the affections of her new brother. Oh, she wished they were young, for she would never have this problem. Yet, they were of the age that boys and girls begin that never ending dance of attraction. It well may be that on some level, Casey did not wish for the charming brother to stop showering her with his attention. Had she truly wished for such a thing, she may certainly have had the power to stop it. However, she merely protested.

Upon that fine fall morning, as the leaves drifted slowly to the ground, the dew glistening upon their leaves, Derek found a strong attraction pulling him to her.

Oh, had he only known what cruel forms fate takes; if both could know the cold façade that desire wore; that cloak which masked her true nature. Perhaps then, such a tragedy as would later happen would have been avoided.

Now, however, Fate had found her place, and there was now no stopping what had been put into action, for what was to come had been a malicious plot brewing far longer than either party could imagine.

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**A/N: I hope you enjoyed this lighter look into the past. Enjoy the lightness while it last: next chapter will be back in the present, and things are not looking good for our young couple.**

**Again, I love reviews of all sorts. Yes, even flames. So, leave a comment!**

**Emily**


	6. Chapter Four

**A/N: I have good news, and bad news. Bad news is this will probably be the last update for some time. I am afraid that school starts back up a week from Monday, and I should think that I will scarcely have time to breath, let alone write. I do plan on finishing the story; I have invested far too much time and energy to give up now. However, updates may be few and far between. I am sorry, but I have much to do. Good news is I leave you with a marathon of a chapter; the longest yet, actually. I hope you may find this to be to your liking! Be on the lookout for a familiar face (and since I didn't know his last name, I took the liberty of making it up). Enjoy!**

**As always, thank you all for the reviews, and keep them coming. I live off them, y'know.**

**Emily**

**Disclaimer: I think we can all agree that it is a very good thing that I do not own any of this.**

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The December wind howled against the walls of the small cottage, finding its way in through the numerous cracks in the façade. Sam Jenkins bowed his head against the snow and wind, and pushed his way to the door. He looked around, observing a small garden that sat around the side of the house, while hoping that the one who inhabited the house would hear his knocks over the persistent cries of the wind.

"Come in," came a faint voice, a reply to his knocks. He opened the flimsy door, instinctively pulled his overcoat closer to his body, for the home was little warmer than the air outside. Through the dim light, he glanced around the small room, frowning at the disarray that greeted him.

A film of dust layered the small wooden table, and a cobweb hung from a chair that was pulled away from the table. Cups and dishes sat forgotten, and he could detect a faint odor of rot.

Sam had known those who lived in this home for several months, and he knew that the wife was not one to allow her living quarters to be in such distress. He heard a cough coming from the other room, which stood adjacent to the room he currently occupied.

"Mrs. Venturi," he called softly.

"Mr. Jenkins," a girl's voice replied.

Sam entered a small bedroom to find the woman that he had been searching for lying upon the bed. Her face was paler than normal, her skin nearly translucent. She coughed again, and as he came closer, he could hear that her breathing was raspy.

"Oh, Casey…"

"Please, Mr. Jenkins, I need not your pity. I am too weak to rise myself from my bed, so I ask that you may light a fire for me, for I have grown cold in my current state," she told him, ignoring the improper use of her name, and coughing once again. Silently, Sam went about, vowing to question the girl on her husband's whereabouts upon lighting a fire.

"Mr. Venturi knows not of this," she said quietly as she watched him through the glow of the flames. "He left to help fix up a hotel in Netherbury, and could not return home for a time. I fell ill after he had left."

"He should not have left his wife in such a condition."

"He hadn't a choice! We needed the income from this job. The child is not due until February, and he had no reason to worry for my health."

"You would not need it if he were not to squander it on swine and liquor," Sam muttered angrily. Casey said nothing, knowing that his words were true.

"What is occurring matters not. I do wish that you might feed my birds. They have grown hungry, with nothing to eat. The poor dears must be cared for." With those words, the subject of her condition was ended. Sam felt he had little choice but to comply with the requests of the girl.

"You are in no condition to be alone, Mrs. Venturi. I will call upon a lady friend to give you the assistance you require, and in the morning, I shall go and fetch your husband."

Casey started to protest, but grimaced. Closing her eyes, she tried to steady her breathing. Her skeletal hands clutched at the worn blankets around her as she fell into another fit. The cold weather had brought upon a series of illness, diminishing her health. It chanced that the child was due within these harsh months of winter, and it was no secret within the town that in her current condition, and with her indifferent husband, it was unlikely that both mother and child could survive.

0()0()0

Sam made his way into town, stopping at a small cottage, inhabited by the widow Mrs. James.

Mrs. James was a woman who believed in civility, order, and abiding by the rules of class. She was not, by any means, a rich woman. She had lived her life as a lower class citizen of Dorchester for many years, her family making their living working in the fields. She had established a reputation as a levelheaded woman, to whom women would often turn to with their own problems.

She believed that marriage was still holy. If one wasn't to marry for love, as it so often seemed in these days, she believed at the very least, the couple should have a respect for one another. Therein lay her dislike of the Venturi family.

The man, Mr. Venturi, was a lazy drunkard, it was agreed. His wife, who, in other circumstances might have garnered the sympathies of the ladies of the town, was a rather proud young girl, one who was seldom seen, and seemed to think herself better than the other ladies. It was rumored that the girl might have been a teacher, for she was supposedly quite smart for a woman. Her husband, it appeared, had squelched all desires in her life. Mrs. James cared very little for the proud. The girl was no better than herself, nor was she better than any other lady of the town. Yet, she strolled along the streets, avoiding each woman who looked upon her with pity.

Thus, Mrs. James thought very little of the family, and, as she dictated what many other ladies felt, few people looked upon the Venturi family as anything but low and crude.

Sam had known the lady, whom we have spoken of, since birth, she having been a close friend of his mothers. So, when he came to her door that cold night, she allowed him entry to her home.

"I've not got much time. Mrs. Venturi has fallen quite ill, and I ask that you may go and give her the attention that she so desperately needs."

"Ah, she now needs our help, I suppose?" asked Mrs. James, her voice slightly condescending.

"Her husband has left her heavy with child, so he can work, and she seems close to death. She refuses the service of a doctor, and I fear that if she is not attended to, she will not survive. I must run to find her husband, and bring him back."

Mrs. James sighed heavily; perhaps, it would be best to see the girl. Then, at least, that Mrs. Venturi would not have such a reason to look down upon her and her people.

"I suppose it is my duty to tend to the hontish girl. 'Twill suit her well to be toppered for once."

"It is not our place to call her such things, Mrs. James," Sam immediately replied.

Mrs. James looked at him with the keen eye that had struck fear into many a man. " 'Ye seem to hev taken a liking t' Mrs. Venturi," Mrs. James observed, eyeing Sam. "'Tis best that 'ee forget any foolish notions of saving her from her husband. 'Ye be remembering that she be a taken woman, and she be heavy with her own husbands child."

"Her own husband cares little for her as it is. He left her heavy wi' his child, and has squandered all that may have been spent caring for her on his own pleasure."

"Don't be zany. The man may care little for his wife, and much for his drink, but he is proud, and he will not easily allow his wife t' go off wi' another man. Ye best think o' it, and leave the girl to herself."

"As I have said, I merely wish to help her back to health. 'Tis our duty t' do so. I will leave at dawn. Her husband is nearby in Netherbury, and I must bring him back."

"Don't do anything foolish, Sam. Your family is quite easily given to making fools of themselves, and I do not wish for you to fall into the same ways as those before 'ee."

Sam nodded, acknowledging her words, before he left the home.

* * *

The rising sun cast its glare over a solitary figure trekking through the ice and snow that layered the ground. His head bent low against the wind, his coat pulled around him, Sam thought of the words said by Mrs. James.

Sam was, in many regards, much the same as Derek. He had never aspired to be much of anything. Perhaps it was a lack of inspiration, or a lack of ability. It mattered little, for the results were the same. A good looking lad of nineteen or twenty, Sam was resigned to spend his life in poverty, working little, and living life at the pothouse. However, unlike Derek, Sam was acutely aware of his shortcomings, and thus, knew of his own future. It may well have been that Derek too knew of what he was, and chose not to understand rather than face the truth. Or, it may have been that Derek was different from his friend, and had the ability to perhaps one day be blessed with something more.

Further more, Sam had what Derek lacked; that is to say, Sam knew how to love, and how to feel. Derek was, it would seem, devoid of all ability to feel any emotions. Not for his family, his friends, or his wife. Sam knew pain, suffering, and love, and often yearned for Derek's indifference.

How close Sam might have been in the position that Derek had! Or, rather, how he might have made something of himself had he had the childhood of Derek.

Sam had grown up in Dorchester, his parents both peasants who made their meager living working the land. He had been born the sixth of eight children, the deaths of his siblings so common in his family that his own name had been recycled, having been the name of a child born to his parents who had died prior to Sam's own birth. He had not had the stability or education that Derek had been so happily blessed with.

So, how did it chance that both men made the same living? That both men were so much alike? Save, of course, the love, or at least marriage, of a woman who seemed greater than both men could deserve.

After the brawl that night in the pothouse, Sam had made himself known to Mrs. Venturi. He found the pretty young girl to be bright and worldly, so different from the girls that he had known all his life. Her wit and personality was such that it could easily have captured the fancy of any man. It so happened, however, that Mrs. Venturi seldom showed herself outside, which Sam owed to her own solitary nature.

It was perplexing, that she should be married to a man such as Derek. The circumstances surrounding their union were shrouded in mystery, and were often remarked upon by the people in town. Certainly, it would seem that it did not come about from love. It was evident that Derek felt little for his wife, and that she felt nothing but perhaps fear for him. Yet, Sam had a difficult time believing that they had married out of necessity, and that he had lay with her before their marriage, thus forcing her into shame. He could not help but wonder if she would not have been more compatible with one such as he. He resolved to explore such a thought, though he was fast approaching his destination.

0()0()0

"Mr. Venturi!"

Derek turned around to see Sam running towards him, his face pale, and his coat filthy. It was nearing noon, and Derek had still two nights left in the small town in which he worked. He had, when offered the humble job of renovating an inn, giving little thought to leaving Casey at their home. He knew quite well that she did not wish for his help, and she did not seem to need it. They had, for so long, lived their own separate lives, seldom speaking, though they lived in the same home, and shared the same name.

"Mr. Venturi, your presence is immediately required at your home. Your wife has taken ill, and you must go to attend to her."

"I hev a job to do, you may see. She shall take care of herself." Derek did not wish for others to meddle in what was his business. Lesser still did he like to entertain the thought of the man who stood before him taking an interest in his wife and her well being.

"She is close to death," Sam said. "Of course, perhaps that is what you want. If you do not return, you may find yourself widowed. Is that what you wish?"

"You have no business meddling in the affairs of my family," Derek said harshly. "You've taken far too much interest in Mrs. Venturi as it is. People may start to speak of your relations to her. I pray that you may leave me be, and she as well. I'll not have you ruining my name."

" Tis true that I have taken an interest in the poor girl. I pity her, you see. I med have treated my lady better, ye know. Perhaps 'tis not too late. I hev money saved; I may take her away, where nobody knows us, and where…"

Derek pressed Sam into a wall, his eyes dark with anger.

"You dare touch my wife, and I shall kill you." Releasing Sam, he turned and called, "it seems that I must return home. Sam shall finish my work."

0()0()0

Mrs. James found the girl where Sam had left her, struggling for breath, her face almost indistinguishable from the off colored bed sheets.

"Oh, my, Mrs. Venturi. We must have a doctor see you at once!" cried Mrs. James, clearly taken aback by the extent of the girl's illness.

"I do not wish to bother anyone, my dear Mrs. James," the girl replied softly, coughing violently.

"Surely you see that you are not well! If you are left in this condition, you med loose yourself and your child."

Mrs. James had expected the mentioning of the child to sway the stubborn mind of the girl. However, if anything, it seemed to convince her even more of her desire not to see a doctor.

She felt a pang of pity for the young lady, despite her predetermined dislike for her. She had always doubted that the child was conceived in love. She could not say if she believed that force had anything to do with it, but she could not think that two people of such violent opposition could possibly have married on their own accord.

Nevertheless, she was secure in the knowledge that soon, if Mrs. Venturi made it through, she would be back to her haughty self, looking down upon Mrs. James and her people. Still, for she knew that she saw the girl without any haughty mask, if only for this one moment.

"Please, I am sure that Mr. Venturi will arrive shortly. I trust that I should be feeling much better quite soon."

"You must at least allow me to help you eat. You need nourishment for that child of yours."

"Very well."

Mrs. James knew quite well that Mrs. Venturi was an independent woman, loath to allow someone whom she felt was below her to help. The mere fact that the young girl seemed to care so little was proof enough of her illness.

"I hate to have you waste your time here, Mrs. James. I am quite sure that I will soon be well enough to care for myself. Mr. Venturi should be arriving home shortly; Mr. Jenkins told me that he was going to fetch my dear husband. Oh, my husband should be quite disturbed to learn that I have taken ill while he was away. He was not eager to leave me to begin with. Poor, dear man." She could barely speak all of these words, pausing constantly to catch her breath.

"I know, my dear. It is no trouble at all. Now, you go and rest. You don't want your husband to find you so ill, now, do you?" She regarded Casey wearily, wondering if the words the girl had spoken were true. Mrs. James had always been under the impression that the Venturi's marriage was tumultuous, at best. Yet, the girl spoke with such conviction that Mrs. James could almost believe that she truly loved the man to whom she was married.

She sighed, and turned to fix up some soup. The poor dear was going to need food if she were to make it through the night.

0()0()0

It was in the late hours of the evening that Derek arrived home. A scowl on his handsome face, he hurried to his wife. His own heart, if it is to be believed that he possessed such an organ, stopped at the sight of the strong woman he knew lying helplessly in the bed.

To say that Derek was without feelings was not quite true, though, perhaps, he came across as such. He felt certain things, such as pleasure, hate, and anger. Yet, since his union with Casey, he seemed to have lost the ability to feel as a normal human does. He could not quite understand the bitterness that he possessed, and took out upon his pretty wife. He did know, however, that watching her shallow breathing, he felt what could have been construed as pity.

"Oh, my dear Casey. Mrs. James, I thank you for your help. If I may ask, would you be so kind as to fetch the doctor. I feel that he must attend to my wife, as she is in dire need of help."

"Of course. I hev been telling your wife the very same thing, but she be a rusty un."

"Aye, indeed she is."

0()0()0

It was nearing evening the following day that Casey's fever finally broke. Slowly, the color began to return to her sallow skin, and her appetite returned. Her spirits, however, were, it may have been said, worse than they had been. Derek was allowed to escort her to another room. Holding her tightly, and allowing her weak arms to hang about his neck, he steered her towards the front of the house so that she might see the outside world.

"You needn't be so kind, Derek. I know how my sickness must pain you, keeping you from your drink and your whores."

"You regard me so unkindly, my dear wife. I do wish that you would trust me."

"Trust you? You have given me no indication that you are a man to be trusted. I made that mistake once, and I assure you that I shall not do so again."

They were silent, both at a strange lack of words. Finally, Derek spoke. "You knew you were falling ill when I left. You med have fooled the others, but I am not so easily tricked."

"What's it to you if I knew or not? I will survive."

"Yet, you certainly could not have known that Mr. Jenkins would call on you. So why did you allow me to leave? Certainly, you cannot think so little of me as to believe that I would knowingly leave you to death."

She looked at him; her empty eyes suddenly alight with a fire he had seldom seen as of late. "I did not tell you because I wished to die. I wished for death to carry the child and I away. I wanted nothing to do with this cold world, or with you. I wish I had not been born to be a pawn in this cruel situation, but I have been. So, I wish for death." The passion with which these words were said was what made the man draw back.

"Is your life so miserable, then, as to choose death?"

"It is."

"I see. I wish you would not ask for such a cold fate. You may find that you have received a gift which is not desirable to you."

"I am cold to all that is around me, now. I scarcely think I may summon up enough emotion to love my own child."

The inevitable had finally occurred; fate had worn Casey down, and she could no longer look at life with the youthful energy she had possessed, even in the first few months of her marriage. Yet, despite her words, Derek could see that a spark of emotion still lay uncovered. Unlike him, she was not yet damned to eternal indifference.

"I pray you may find the error of such thoughts."

For once, he truly meant his words.

0()0()0

Several days later, Mrs. James came once again to call upon Casey.

"Ye certainly have regained your strength, Mrs. Venturi. You walk as though you was never ill," exclaimed Mrs. James, as she sat at the small wooden table, watching Casey tidy up.

"Oh, yes, Mrs. James. You see I fear I have been cursed with my father's ill health. He died of consumption some years ago, the poor man. It is this horrible winter that we have been having. I have had horrible luck in such winters in the past."

Mrs. James watched with sharp eyes as Casey fluttered around the room. Despite the filth that surrounded her, she swept through the home as though she herself were of some noble rank; head held high, cheeks flushed once more, her gown smooth and lovely. The girl that now stood on her own feet was a far cry from the girl who, so recently, had been standing upon death's dark door, pale as the sheets that covered her.

"I still find it strange that your Mr. Venturi did not feel it reasonable to stay with you," she commented, trying to elicit a response of some sort from the unreadable girl.

"Oh, he wanted to. But no, I told him. You must go and make us a living. We wish to move from here, after the child is born. Perhaps we may go to London. They say there is much to be done there. He may find work as a great man, for he is quite brilliant, you know. Or, we may move from England. Perhaps he may find work in Canada; it is beautiful, I have heard. Yes, I told him to leave me here. He hasn't any reason to worry more over my poor soul."

Her words were false, but it mattered little. Casey had little left to love. Her life had changed for the worse, for her marriage was based on a love she never really felt, to a man she never really knew. What she did have, she took full advantage of. Before her, there was a lady who knew nothing of Casey's situation. She had lost her life and her love to fate. All she had left was the comfort of knowing that she could appear to be someone that she wished to be. Thus, Casey took advantage of this, speaking flippantly of fantasies she never knew she had entertained. She spoke of a man who loved her, of a life they could never have, of a happiness she could never feel.

* * *

**A/N: There is nothing left to say, other than leave a review! Be it nice, long, short, or cruel, I love them all (yes, even flames. Actually, I really like flames. They are quite humorous. I enjoy saving them and reading them when I feel down. But I digress…).**

**Emily**


	7. Chapter Five

**A/N: First, thank you to all who reviewed. It means more than you can possibly imagine to me. I am, however, a little concerned that most of you seemed to actually _like_ Sam. Have I really made Derek just an ass that I have managed to make Dasey's pull for Sam/Casey? Oh, my. Ah well. I am glad you liked him and Mrs. James, regardless. You will be seeing a lot more of them.**

**I apologize for the wait for this chapter. I really wish that I could say that it will not happen again, but the truth is that it probably will. School has started, and I am currently juggling AP Classes, injured pets, and college applications. Needless to say, all of that takes up a lot of time, leaving very little to breath, let alone write Fanfiction.**

**That said, I hope you like this chapter. If I may be so brave, I must admit that this is one of my favorites thus far. I know that we haven't seen a lot of Derek, other than through Casey's eyes. This is now to change. I do hope that you find this chapter to be to your liking! Please, leave a review. I really, really need to see that others are reading, and nothing makes a tough day better. Even if they are flames. Really. As always, any grammatical errors are my own.**

**WARNING: I feel that I should warn you all that there is mentioning of religion, and there will often be so within the story. I do not wish to offend anyone, and any beliefs held here are not reflections of my own. It just happens that religion played a large role in the period, and I have done my best to reflect that.**

**Emily**

**Disclaimer:** If I owned it, you could expect for it not to be on Disney. You could also expect not to see all that ridiculous and unrealistic teenaged angst (because I swear if I see one more character have a whole high school under their thumb, or one more character lament about their unpopularity, I will throw myself out the nearest window. Or, perhaps under the nearest train). No, instead, I think I would elevate classics. Yes. I'm thinking a whole episode in which Casey has finished reading the unabridged version of Hugo's _Les Miserables_, and tries to get her boyfriend to act like Marius, and… Err, what was I talking about again?

* * *

**Though this be madness, yet there is method in 't.**

-**From **_**Hamlet** _

Come February, the harsh winter had yet to subside. The cold permeated every corner of the small home, wrapping its tendrils around the inhabitants, and playing them its evil song.

In the middle of the month, on a particularly cold night, a man made his way through the wind and sleet, fighting to make it to the small home. He had just come from the pothouse, though he had spent little time there. His mind, for the past few days, had been filled with horrible thoughts and images, keeping him from completing the most miniscule task, and preventing him from the little enjoyment he could usually derive from a strong cup of ale.

As of late, the man to whom the house belonged had been neither at work nor at the alehouse, an unusual occurrence for a man who had made his living amongst the drunkards. It was not, however, worry for the man, Derek Venturi, which plagued Sam. Rather, it was worry for his wife, Casey Venturi that sent Sam calling upon the family that night. It was no secret that the girl had been quite sickly all winter, and that her child was due very soon.

Sam was surprised to find Mrs. James answering his knocks, rather than Mr. Or Mrs. Venturi. Mrs. James's face was creased, anxiety and worry mapped out upon her countenance. Her eyes were dull as well, from a deprivation of sleep, Sam could only guess.

"Mrs. James. I did not expect to find you here," he said.

"Mr. Jenkins, I wish I too could find myself equally perplexed as to what brings you calling upon this family. I fear, I've no time for civilities, and I must ask that you leave," she replied, her voice stern.

"What has happened? Is it Casey? Has the child…"

Mrs. James frowned upon his use of the girls' first name, but chose not to comment upon it. "Mr. Venturi came to my home yesterday, requesting that I come here immediately. It seemed that Mrs. Venturi's time has come. Yet, she finds herself quite ill. 'Tis quite a problem, for the mother to be so close and be so ill. Now, please, if you may excuse me, I must go back to attend to the poor girl."

"Will she be all right?"

"I know not, although I do tend to believe that she med not make it, if I am to be honest."

"May I be permitted to see her? If she does not survive…" Sam felt a jolt of horror at the mere thought. Such a lovely girl, so pure, so angelic. To lose such a girl, he could not fathom such a horrid though.

"I think not…"

"Mrs. James. Please, go attend to my wife. I will finish with Mr. Jenkins," Derek suddenly interrupted, stepping into the soft evening light, and looking down at Sam with a condescending glare.

"Very well. Mr. Jenkins, good day t' you," said the matronly woman, leaving quickly to check on the ill girl.

"Mr. Venturi, I merely wished to see you your wife was faring."

"As you have seen, she is not well at all."

"Is there nothing I can do t' help her?"

Derek looked as though he were to refuse such an offer, but before he could speak whatever cruel words would have undoubtedly come from his lips, Mrs. James hurried towards him, coming from the room that held the girl. She whispered something urgently in his ear, and he turned to her.

"Are ye sure that we must do this?"

"I fear it is necessary, Mr. Venturi."

"She didn't wish for others to become involved in our affairs. She will find herself greatly distraught over what you ask of me. Still, I suppose we have no choice. Very well." He turned to Sam. "Mr. Jenkins, there is something you may do to help Mrs. Venturi. The time has come that we must send for the doctor. Would you mind calling upon him, for I do not wish for either Mrs. James or myself to leave her while she is in such a state."

Sam nodded, his dislike for the man standing before him outweighed by his love of the girl to whom the man was married.

"I shall go immediately. I hope I can be fast enough."

"As do I," Derek said softly. "As do I."

* * *

She was walking through a field, the grass high and green. She was barefoot, and it tickled her feet, softly kissing her skirts, her thighs, and legs. It touched her softly, sending shivers through her body as it gently caressed her, taking her into its comforting embrace. She smiled serenely, closing her eyes, allowing the warm sun to touch her bare arms and face. She was alone, and she wasn't quite sure as to her location, but she did not care. 

She supposed that she had nowhere to go, on that spring afternoon (for, she knew it to be spring, although she knew not what month or day). It was just the grass, and the sun, and the soft touches, carrying her away on a blissful day.

Then, she was gripped by an icy cold. Opening her eyes, she found she had wandered into a creek, stepping into the cold water. The creek was not deep, only reaching the hems of her skirts. She saw, however, that it deepened towards the middle. She paused, but, seeing the welcoming crystal of the surface, decided to keep on going. She proceeded to trudge through the waters. She hadn't realized how deep it was, for, towards the middle, she found herself waist deep. She could no longer see the bottom, her footstep having aggravated the bottom, stirring up the sediment and muddying the waters.

Finally, she reached the opposite side, pulling herself out. She opened her arms wide, once again welcoming the warm sun to dry her skin. Feeling none, she opened her eyes, and started up her walk, determined to find the place in which the sun had shone so brightly. Looking around, she found herself to be in an overgrown wheat field, abandoned before the last harvest, it would seem. The stalks were high, and they reached for her, ripping at her skirts, her legs. Grabbing her legs, they scratched and bloodied them, violating the warmth she had previously felt. She stopped from time to time to wipe the blood from her pale skin, observing how hideous and mutilated they appeared to be from the wheat.

Legs sticky with blood, she continued her march. She finally emerged from the wheat, walking into a field. As she walked, a young girl and an old lady joined her. Silently, they walked side by side. She looked at the hideous old lady, an peasant woman, from the looks of it, to the young girl, who, although she could not see her face, was obviously from a well to do family, for she was dressed as a little lady, a hat covering her fine skin.

"Hello little girl! How delightful you are," Casey said. The girl did not look at her; rather, she shied away.

"She'll not talk t' the likes of you and me," the old hag said, her voice a croak.

"I'll not listen to your words, you hag. Leave us be, the girl and I. We should not think it pleasant to have your sort with us," Casey commanded, her voice determined. She turned back to the girl, who looked up at her.

"Why, Lizzie, it is you!" Casey exclaimed. It was indeed her younger sister. Her hair had been curled in the style so popular to the upper class young ladies of the day, the dark ringlet tumbling out from under an elaborate straw hat. Her white silk frock brushed the grass, but stayed as pure as it had been when first placed on that glowing child.

Lizzie looked at Casey with disgust, and pulled her arm away from Casey.

"I told 'ee, girl like that has nothing to do w' the like of us. We one and the same, child, we are," the old lady said, watching as the little girl faded from their view.

"I tell you hag, be off with you!" Casey once again commanded. "I am nothing like you, and I'll ask that you stop implying such things!"

"Look down, girl, and ye will see that you and I are the same."

Casey looked down, gasping in horror. Her hand was intertwined with that of the old woman's. The two hands were a tangle of swollen and callused joints, impossible to see where one hand started and the other began, or to who each destroyed hand belonged.

"I can't be like you," Casey said, fearfully pulling her hand from that of the peasants. However, she found that the woman too had faded into the fog that was covering the field.

"Casey," a voice whispered. She turned, and her body sagged with relief.

"Father!" she cried, opening her arms to embrace him. However, the man stood in the ghostly shadows of the fog.

"A young woman has one thing. She has her youthful purity. Her mind may be strong, but it will not give her an advantage. She has only youthful purity. As long as she has that, she may find herself to be very well off."

"Oh, but I do have that, Father!"

"And if she loses that purity, that innocence, then may God have mercy on her condemned soul."

"Father!"

He disappeared back into the fog, and she was once again alone. She walked on, seeing in the distance a spot of clarity. It grew larger as she approached, and she could see a bright light. As she found herself within a small distance of it, however, she drew back.

The straw had caught on fire, it would seem. She backed away, for the flames came ever closer, nipping at her skirts. Behind the wall of smoke, she could see a man. No, not a man, but a monster.

"Casey," he called, and she could hear the coldness in that voice. Why, she knew that man!

"Derek, please, help!" she cried. He laughed, and she could see his outline towering above her, staring at her from beyond the flames, waiting for her to join him on the other side.

"No," she moaned. She backed away, but it came, and she knew that they were here to take her soul, to punish her. "No!" she repeated. But, those sins which she had committed were upon her, and she could only wait, wait, watch, pray…

* * *

"How does it seem for my wife, my dear Mrs. James?" inquired Derek as he handed the matronly woman a cool clothe to place upon his wife's slick head. Mrs. James shook her head. 

"She has been tossing about like this for some time. The poor girl is feverish, yet cold, and she is inconsolable. I am no doctor, of course, and 'tis not my place to make my own predictions as to your wife's malady, nor your own child's health."

"Your reputation med say otherwise, Mrs. James. I hev heard that you be the woman to whom all others refer when facing some trouble or another, those trivialities that seem to forever plague the female sex. They say that ye know the body well, and ye know when a girl is to lose her fight."

"Mr. Venturi, it seems unfitting for me to speculate."

Derek nodded, and was quiet for a moment. Then, "what is it about me that is so distasteful to you?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"What is it about my person that is so unsettling. You are quite obvious in your dislike of me," he said.

"Mr. Venturi, it seems that this is not a conversation that should ever be had between two people. There is nothing about you that I do not care for, and I would ask that you not ask such questions."

Derek laughed. "You seem not to realize that I know people, very well, I daresay. 'Tis true: you dislike me very much. I suppose it is your right, for I fear my presence is so often insulting."

She was saved from answering, for Casey suddenly seemed to convulse. Her blue eyes stared up at her, and Mrs. James shuddered, for how haunting they were!

"Derek," the girl croaked. She reached out to grab her husband's arm. Her bony hand wrapped around his arm with more strength than he knew she could truly possess.

"They are to stay with us our whole lives, aren't they."

He nodded. "I fear it is so," he murmured, pressing a tender kiss to her sweaty head. Her eyes closed, and her grip relaxed.

Mrs. James checked to ensure that the girl was still breathing. She stepped back, and looked upon Derek. Saying nothing, she moved to get away from the man. She did not wish to understand what had just taken place between he and his wife. He was correct in his supposition; she did not care for him in the least. She seemed to recognize the calculating coldness in his countenance, the hate with which he looked upon his own wife. She wished now to escape him, but she knew she had a duty to the sickly girl, for she was standing upon Death's door. To her dismay, as she moved, the man followed.

"Do you know why my wife lies near death, Mrs. James?" he asked suddenly, as though the previous conversation had not occurred.

"She is a sickly girl, I would suppose. Her father died of consumption, and I fear she may too."

Derek shook his head, his lips curving into a grin. " 'Tis our sins that leads us here, my dear Mrs. James. Our youthful actions, ignorance, I suppose. We have sinned, and we must pay. She shakes, you see, for she runs from the Devil. He be collecting his prize, I imagine. A fair prize, indeed, to add to his collection. He must have spared me, for I have done the Devil's work, in my actions. She has tried to atone for her sins, and it has lead her fearfully astray."

"Mr. Venturi, it is hardly my place…"

"The reason is how we met. I imagine that you cannot believe that she married a man such as myself for love. No, who can believe such fancies? I feel no love for her, and she little for me. Of course, she feels some, for she is a woman, and your sex has feeling that far surpass those of the man."

"Mr. Venturi, please, I do not wish to know your history. I feel this is best kept within the confines of your home."

"We are within my home, are we not? You lie, for I know that the ladies of the town thrive on the gossip fed to them by any source. You yourself are a grand well from which they get so much of their sweet elixir. My wife, of course, would die were she to know what I am to tell you, but what does that matter? My poor, dear wife lies near death. Ah, the poor girl! I liked her well enough, at one point, I did. True, not at the end, but at a time, I felt quite close to her."

He was pacing, his voice fading only to pick up once more. Mrs. James privately feared that the man had picked up an illness quite like that of the young lady, for it seemed that madness had gripped him.

"Never has there been two as damned as we two, never has a child been conceived in such hell, in such sin. Oh, he watches us. I do his work. I do not deny him what is his right. She, she tries to convince that Lord above of her worthiness. Never has there been a former maiden who prayed so well for her freedom, who hated her man so much as she. There can been no couple that is more miserable than she and I."

"Mr. Venturi, perhaps it is your arrogance, your indifference to your own wife's feelings that makes you so disagreeable. Are you mad with drink, for your ramblings would make it seem so. Your wife is close to death, and you dare speak of her sins. She certainly has atoned for what she had done, living with a man such as yourself!" Mrs. James cried. She gasped at her own cruel words, ashamed that she had allowed the man to elicit such a reaction. It was never seemly for a woman to tell one what she thought. Yet, she could not bring herself to apologize.

"You look ashamed of yourself, Mrs. James. Don't be! Do not blush, oh, no! You mustn't feel such shame. Yes, this is why I dislike my own wife. Her silly notion of what is reality and what is allusion. Oh, I hold no such ideas. No, not I. It surprises me not that you should think me to be drunk. Oh, I wish I were, but, alas, it is not so. It would be quite fitting, though, would it not be? Oh, sit, sit!"

This was true-she feared the truth. Perhaps it was his unabashed way of saying such truths that brought such hatred upon him. After all, it was then as it is now; in the eyes of society, it is a commonly held, but never spoken, truth that the worst sin one can commit is that of honesty. .

Mrs. James stared at him, frightened of the madness that seemed to hold him captive. This, she mused, must be why the girl is so ill. His face, usually so haughty and carefree, seemed to be that of pure cruelty. He sneered at her, observing her fear, and, for the first time, she realized what it was like to look evil in the eye.

"Her mother is not here. She is heavy with a child of her own. My mother is long dead; my father is with his new wife, my stepmother. She be heavy with child. Her mother, my father, our brother. Ah, ha! Ye see what I speak of! Ha, ha. Your face, 'tis one of anguish, for you see the Devil walking now among you. See, he dances here upon those walls. And in the room, he hovers. Oh, hear his cry! He sings, those incestuous two, that child of sin, that girl, sweet, sweet girl, oh, how ripe for my harem!"

"Dear lord, forgive us our sins," Mrs. James whispered to herself, horror filling her breast. The revelation left her cold. She had known to an extent that they had been forced into marriage, for, despite Mrs. Venturi's content façade, she knew better than to believe it. She could not imagine that a girl that reflected such class would willingly marry a man such as this. She could not have imagined the true extent of their relations.

"Why do you tell me such things," she asked, her voice soft.

"Because I wish for you to join us. You cannot escape it now. You are a part of our hellish world now. Your knowledge binds you to us. This, I trust, is something you would not dare mention. No, you cannot. You know quite well that this is our secret, our private hell. My poor wife. My dear, dear wife. Poor child. You understand I did not force her, though she may believe otherwise. I suppose she would never allow herself to ask you for help. She is lonely, and she is condemned. I do suppose that you will find it within yourself to help her. Provided, of course, that she survives. I hope that she does not. For her sake, I hope that she does not live, for if she does, we may know that we have not yet paid our dues, and we both shall continue this hell. One of us should be allowed to leave all of our earthly suffering. Perhaps she is better than I, and that is why they take her. I wish it were I. Alas, it is she, and I hope she dies." Behind him, the fire crackled, and she could see his shadow reflecting off the wall in the soft glow. She shuddered. How beastly it looked, towering over them.

It scared Mrs. James that she could understand his words. And, perhaps in her own mind, she too wished that the poor girl leave this world, and that she would not have to endure this earthly suffering.

"You must understand my point. You are no ignorant fool, I have observed. Still, I suppose I should not bother you. It is late, and oh! I do believe I hear the door. It must be the doctor. Perhaps his touch shall overcome that of the Devil's. I shall go allow him entrance, and you may go ready my wife. I have enjoyed our chat, Mrs. James. I hope you have as well, for I know that we shall be seeing each other often in the days to come."

* * *

Two days later, it was heard all over town that something had happened to Mrs. Venturi. Who had spoken of it was unknown. Nevertheless, the gossip spread rapidly. 

It was said that two days prior, Mrs. Venturi had given birth to a baby girl. She must have had some divine creation watching over her, and cradling her to its breath, for both she and the child were alive.

* * *

**A/N: Whew! Quite a lot, I would say. Please, tell me what you think now that I have shown a bit more of Derek and his character. Questions? Comments? Leave a review, please! All are welcome.**


	8. Chapter Six

**A/N: Good news and bad news. Good news-I've actually got this chapter up. Bad news-most of you will find it rather anticlimactic. I won't apologize for not having it up sooner: I was prevented from writing it due to the schedule from Hell. It was not of my own choosing that I should have no time. Believe me.**

**This chapter was er… it just is. All right? Yeah, crummy explanation. What can I say? I had some stuff I was thinking about. However, I do have an idea of what the next three or four chapters should look like, so perhaps it might take only a month to get the next one up, rather than the two it took here.**

**So, read, yell at me if you will, tell me how utterly horrid I am, do what you'd like. Just leave a review.**

**Enjoy!**

**Emily**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. If I owned it, things would be real in the show. In fact, I think I'm going to write a show like this, in which lockers are small, passing time is short, halls are crowded, guidance counselors don't care, and there are an array of classes. Don't miss it: it'll undoubtedly be cancelled after an episode ;)**

0o0o0

_"It's queer how out of touch with truth women are._

_They live in a world of their own, and there_

_had never been anything like it, and never can be._

_It is too beautiful altogether, and if they were to_

_set it up it would go to pieces before the first sunset."_

_-_Joseph Conrad, _Heart of Darkness_

0o0o0

It is an interesting thing, this vision of Mother and child.

A mother will watch her child, observing each action, and taking little notice of her own impending mortality. Oh, she knows of her insignificance, but she cares little for her own soul. Yet, she'll not allow her mind to dwell upon her child's own life, or what may become of the child as time has its wicked way with it. The mother will notice only that the child has hurt itself; she'll not think that one day, the child's blood will be mixed with the dirt, trod upon by those far greater than any of them.

No. The love of the mother will prevent such a thought from lingering in her mind for long. The bond that has been forged is far too strong for allow for such things. And oh, this bond, how strong it must be, for how else is it that a mother can feel such love for a child that has costs her so much? The babe, conceived in sin, its whole existence surrounded by misery and hate, is a reminder of all that which can never be, and all that is doomed to be.

It is strange that though the child's birth is so disastrous to the mother, it is seemingly forgotten, for she will bless her child and embrace it fully. Is this a deeply established biological urge? Perhaps. But, perchance it is something far simpler. The lonely and miserable mother and the lowly child need one another, for both are pathetic creatures, so much alike in their helplessness. They cling to each other, feeding off one another in an all-consuming relationship.

The mother, ruined as she may be, will find her maidenhood renewed as she gazes upon the infant. Feelings for all other things are paused, and time ceases to exist as she gazes upon the purified babe. In this moment, a sort of celestial light falls upon both her and the child, and only these two are alive, are present in the world. In this brief moment, they are everything and nothing.

In the weeks following the birth of her child, Casey felt herself live in a sort of skewered world, in which only her child was worthy of life. However, a week after she had recovered her strength, Mrs. James came calling on her.

"Good day t' you, Mrs. Venturi. I wished to see how the child and yourself were faring," the woman greeted, smiling at the pathetic creature, still pale from her brush with Hell's fire.

Casey had not been sufficiently recovered to her senses during her illness, and thus, her recollection of those days was vague at best. She had no thought that Mrs. James had, in a way, helped her survive it, nor was she willing to ask, for she felt herself degraded by the very thought. Therefore, she looked upon Mrs. James with the view of one who lives above all others.

"I have been fine, and so has my child," she replied curtly, her eyes trained upon the older woman. "We have been managing ourselves well. Of course, I know we ought to have a girl here to help with the baby, but we are trying to save up our money. It is our hope, as I believe I have said, to move to a city. London, perhaps, or we may leave England.Still, that time is nearing, I believe. Mr. Venturi has been working quite hard as of late."

Mrs. James had it on good authority that Mr. Venturi had been working quite hard to squander away all of his savings lately. She suspected Mrs. Venturi knew this as well, but, as women so often do, turned a blind eye to the truth.

She would have been sympathetic to the situation of this unfortunate woman, but she could not be. The girl carried herself as a goddess, sentenced by unseen forces to walk amongst the mortals.

"I don't suppose you have much of a memory of your illness, Mrs. Venturi," commented the older lady, assessing the girl's motions as she fluttered about. Casey paused briefly, looking at the woman, her face suddenly overcome with such sorrow that Mrs. James could hardly stand to gaze upon it. The look was transient, however, and the contemptuous gaze was once more set in place.

"I fear that I do not. I was told by my husband that you tended to me for a brief time. I believe I've thanked you for this. I do, I thank you, of course. And the dear doctor, who was so kind as to come to my assistance. Oh, how I do thank him, too. "

Idly, Mrs. James wondered if she had purposely spoken this lie, if she had been told by Mr. Venturi what had happened, but had chosen to ignore it.

It was a valid thought, for it like many, Casey lived in a sort of false world. Mrs. James knew this well. She saw that Casey had deluded herself into believing that she was pure, that she lived in a world in which she was still highly regarded, she had a husband who might have loved, or at least respected her, and she had a child that would forever bring her joy. She had not always thought such a thing, it is true. Once, she too had looked upon the world as it ought to be looked upon; that is to say, she had looked at it with a certain pessimistic idea strengthening her beliefs. Her marriage had given her little reason to believe otherwise, and her pregnancy had brought her no joy. But now, now she held in her arms a physical being that hardly seemed human.

Yes, she occupied a world of her own, one that excluded all of the past haunts and pains she had suffered. She was not a strong woman on her own; she relied upon her past and her memories to keep her proud. Situated as she was, Casey had allowed her mind to give way to the false idea that she was of a superior class. Her view of the past and of her life before her marriage had morphed, and she could not help but think that she had been part of some gilded aristocracy, the romantic image of such a past cemented in her mind. In truth, she was never better than middle class. Her actions, her words, even the way in which she carried herself, all told of a diluted past. She did not remember all the dilution that had come about her. After all, is it not true that most, if they look far enough, carry the blood of some grand person? One must look only at what is now, rather than to focus upon that which has been. Casey could only do the former, thus preventing her from humbling herself, and from viewing her place as what it truly was.

The thought of telling the girl the knowledge that she carried entered Mrs. James's head. However, the look of the girl, shrouded, as she was, in blissful ignorance, was enough to keep such utterances from being said aloud.

Mrs. James felt that she could no longer speak of this subject to Mrs. Venturi. That look of truth had reviled her. She could not fathom what could create in such a girl that sort of terror, nor could she understand how she could so dislike this wretched woman.

"You daughter is lovely, Mrs. Venturi. Lovely indeed. Your husband must be quite proud."

"Oh, he is! He is very happy; we two are happy, as happy as we have ever been."

Which two she was referring to could not be said.

"I am glad. I am very glad that you have found such a state."

The women shared a glance of understanding. Their own differences, radical, at best, could not disguise the fact that both were women. Mrs. James, as averse as she might have been towards Casey, knew that, for all her foolish fancies, they were both of the same breed. As a girl, she too had tried to be strong. She thought now, however, that her methods had been far less silly, and she had been prudent enough to realize that, after marriage, she was, in truth, reliant upon the kindness of others. Casey had yet to learn that for all her bravado, she was not, could never be, a strong personage. Perhaps, at one time, she had held that potential, but not now. Never now.

They shared the polite goodbyes, and Mrs. James left. Casey, upon watching her walk down the hill, could not help but think that something large had just occurred, although she could not say just what.

A cry broke her from her reveries, and she hurried to pick up the baby.

0o0o0o

A month passed quickly; time meaning, as we have said, little to the mother. The only occurrence that broke her from her precariously Utopian setting was the arrival of a letter, two weeks after the talk with Mrs. James.

"Be ye Mrs. Venture?" a boy had asked, arriving one day at her door.

"Yes, I am she."

"Th' man down below wished me t' give ye this. He says it come yesterday, and yer t' give an answer t' 'ee."

The youth regarded her curiously as she read the paper. They said, down below, that she was a wicked woman. Not a witch, but looking upon her, he wondered if perhaps she was. She seemed to him to be too frail, too white, too thin to be real. From the house, he heard a baby cry. The woman didn't seem up to caring for the babe, as her face had grown paler in the moments following his arrival.

"Mrs., would ye like me t' mind th' Chiel? I've helped my Mother do it before. Ye can pen yer response."

At his voice, she looked up. Regaining what little composure she had, she forced a smile. "No, that will not be necessary. She disappeared into the house for a moment, emerging with a piece of parchment. "You can hand this to the man, and tell him to deliver it immediately."

She did not give him even a farthing for his work, and so, sorely disappointed, he trudged back, thinking as he did so that she was a strange and mean woman, as they had said.

o0o0o0

When her husband came home, having been unaffected, it seemed, by the events that had recently occurred, she mentioned the exchange.

"I received a letter today."

"That is nice."

"My mother has given birth to a boy."

"Very well."

"She plans on coming to see us in a fortnight."

This caused Derek to look up for a moment.

"She'll not be staying here."

"No, of course not. I would not allow such a thing. Perhaps at some point, however, we may offer her a room in our home."

He looked at her, trying to understand her meaning. "What are you speaking of woman? Are you implying that ye wish for us to leave here?"

She looked down, and for a brief moment, the silence that had penetrated the house since the birth of the child reigned. "I don't suppose that you think such a thing possible right now, and you are true in such thought. We haven't much to live by, I know. But perhaps one day, we might find that we can afford to live elsewhere. When the girl has grown some, and you have worked longer. I was hoping that we might leave the town, and move to the city. Maybe London; there should be work enough in London for you."

Derek had not found himself settling into the role that she had so easily adopted. He had noticed the change in her perceptions as of late. The child, he felt little for. He had initially wished to feel such things, but now, now he figured that it was for the best that he could feel nothing. After all, he was only a plaything of the Devil, and it was not his right to feel anything but anguish.

"We will not be leaving this place. We have found a home, and I do not wish to ever leave it."

"I suppose that is your right."

No more was said on the subject.

o0o0o0o

For Casey, motherhood had brought with it a renewed sense of purity and of contentedness. What she could not comprehend, however, was how she might feel in later years, or, rather, how her own unfortunate mother now felt.

As time goes on, the blinding light of innocence seems to fade, leaving only a faint glow as the child reaches her tenth or eleventh year. Why is this, we are led to wonder. Is it possible that the mother will see the world corrupt her child before her eyes? Certainly, the cruel power on earth leaves little untainted. The blind innocence with which the babe follows its mother turn to wariness; its own feelings turn on it, deceiving the child, painting pictures of feelings that were never felt, of love that was never known.

Nora Venturi ruminated upon all of this as she sat upon the seat, watching the hillside roll by. She paused from her own ruminations, allowing herself to look upon a young girl, running through the train, laughing as her young mother trailed after her, a smile upon the mothers pretty face. She let herself fondly remember the own instances in which she had acted similarly with her own children, but the peaceful moment was fleeting, as is so often true.

She wondered if the overwhelming disappointment that she felt in her eldest daughter stemmed from her own faulty assumptions. Perhaps, she mused, she had thought to highly of the girl; perhaps she had expected too much. Of course, Casey had never given her a reason to believe otherwise. She had always been a smart child, a girl who would achieve far more than most of her class. Nora had thought that her daughter could make a marriage of great rank, a match that could come about due to Casey's intellect and beauty. Yes, she decided. She had thought far too well. She had forgotten that they were not of the elite class, that they were of no importance. She had, at some point, ceased to look at her daughter as she was. She had simply refused to see Casey as another girl, a mistake that, looking back, had caused far more grief than would have otherwise arisen from this situation.

Had she angered those above, she was led to consider as she walked off the train, onto the hardened ground. Had she done something to give her this shame? To give her own child this shame? She couldn't imagine that it was otherwise. It was possible, of course, that these feelings were manifestations of her guilt. After all, it had been she who had pushed her daughter into this shameful marriage. It had been only through one shame that another could be avoided. She hadn't a choice, Nora reasoned. She had another child who still had a chance. A ruined daughter would ruin the chance of Lizzie to live the life that Casey could not. Were word of Casey's transgressions to get out, Lizzie too would find herself incapable of making a match worthy of her own class. Still, whatever her intentions had been, it remained true that she had married her daughter to a man that she was convinced her daughter could never love. Of course, Casey would deny such a thing, for her pride would never allow her to concede to defeat.

Her heart was thus heavy as she walked out from the train. She now wished that she had not insisted upon this trek to see her child. She had an infant at home; she had not wished to leave the babe with the wet nurse initially, but her husband had asked it of her in a way that she could not refuse. Here, she cursed her own weak character. It was a fault that she had carried with her from her birth. She had inherited it from her mother, she supposed. She lacked the strength to do that which was not of her own choosing. Perhaps, had she been stronger, she would not have found it necessary to enter into marriage with Mr. Venturi. Her first husband had left her his lands, which had accumulated into a sizeable fortune from which she could have comfortably lived.

Still, this was all of the past, and the past could not mean much to her now.

She watched the bustle around her, watching the people who met one another, and she felt shame for herself, and for her daughter. Was this what Casey was to be resigned to? This town of such people, so below herself? Of course, when she thought of this, she couldn't help but wonder if she had given Casey to man or monster. She had thought well enough of the boy at one time or another, although now, she really couldn't remember exactly when. She wished that George had accompanied her, but she knew that this was impossible. It was a silent agreement of sorts, between her husband and his son. Derek had disappointed his father far more than Casey had disappointed her mother. Nora knew that George had always held the hope that his son would find some vocation that was befitting of his class. Derek had never shown such an inclination, and when he had been married to her daughter, the small hope that George had held flickered out, only to be reborn in Nora. She who had thought Derek fit for nothing better than that which he did suddenly found herself imagining his reformation.

She knew that this was not to be, yet still, as women are known to do, she hoped despite that which common sense tells us. After all, what was she but a woman, inclined to believe in the irrational.

0o0o0

**A/N: Yeah, tell me how much you hate me. I can take it. I can only say this: lately, events have left me feeling rather sour and cynical towards the world. I'm not saying that this is partly why I wrote this chapter in such a way, but I am saying that some reviews (kind or not, it doesn't matter much) will help…make things a bit lighter. Take it to mean what you'd like. I'm just saying... :)**

**Emily**


	9. Chapter Seven

**A/N: Apologies for the late update; school, and life dominates my time right now, and there is much that cannot be abandoned to update a story. Hopefully, the chaos will be calming down in about a month, but, I make no promises.**

**Things are about to change, and I am sure you will find that you see more here than in any other chapter. There is no Dasey interaction, but in near chapters, that will be remedied. You may find, however, that it is not in a way that you are expecting. **

**That said a special thanks to IceChrysalis for her services as a beta. The input is immeasurable. Any and all mistakes remaining are my own fault. That said, I hope you find this worth the wait. There are some particularly interesting interactions here that I think you might find…fun, perhaps. At any rate, leave a review! They do inspire **

**  
Emily**

**Disclaimer: Any and all characters of familiarity are not mine. However, I do lay claim to the character of Peter Hopkins.**

* * *

_All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way._

-Leo Tolstoy, _Anna Karenina_

In the mid hours of the morning, the sun was slowly ascending, reaching for the apex of the clear sky. The dew had since dried up, the glint of the grass no longer in evidence now. Amidst the grasses, overgrown and untouched, abandoned some years ago, there stood a man, who looked to be about five and forty, although worry seemed to have aged his face. He was not dressed as one of the upper class; his clothing was worn, but of good quality nevertheless. His face wore a look of concern, haggard in appearance and etched with years of trouble. Suddenly, he lifted his head, his eyes now alert as they strained to see towards the horizon. Approaching him now was another man. He was in stark opposition to the man who now stood. Where the older man stood stern, with a visage that bespoke power and acknowledgement of authority, approaching man, visibly younger, walked carelessly, his face painted in a perpetual smirk.

As he came closer, the older man, George, offered up his hand. The boy shook it stiffly, before leaning against a rock, his arms crossed over his chest.

"I didn't expect to see you," George said.

"You asked me to come, so it must be of some importance," the boy, who was clearly the man's son, said.

"Yes, yes it is," the man assented. He cleared his throat in the manner of one who is prepared to address something that warrants formality. "I've received word in regards to your conduct as of late. It seems that you've been acting in such a way as to be of great embarrassment to both myself and to your wife," George said, his eyes focused on his son. He stood erect, his hands clasped behind his back, his face stern and immutable. Standing before his father, Derek was reminded of his childhood days, when he would be called into his father's study to be reprimanded for some childish prank. Now, however, he was no longer the nervous child he had once been, and the situation was no longer as innocent as spilling the ashes from the fire.

"I haven't an idea as to what you might mean, father."

"You've been frequenting the pothouse, consorting with whores…"

"I suppose you've heard such things from the mouths of others. People around here always seem to be speaking of that which does not concern them, just as you are doing right now," Derek said, his mouth twisting into a most terrible smile.

"You think wrong; 'tis my business. If my wife were to learn of such conditions…"

"She is a woman. I've learned now that they are quite ignorant creatures, always refusing to face that which is in front of them," Derek said carelessly.

"You underestimate women, Derek. They are not as foolish as you like to believe. Remember too, their tongues wag far too much, and it is only a matter of time before she hears of it all. As of late, she's been bed-ridden, and hasn't had much company. But she's better, and I fear…"

"You fear that she might learn of what her daughter's life is truly like. Why, father, as we speak, they two are consorting with one another, speaking of children and of fashion and of other such matters. Certainly, you must believe that she will learn of her daughter's life. But ah, of course, our wives are both quite silly. My dear Casey will tell of great ambitions that we share, of how I so adore her, and your dear wife will believe all of it. It's quite predictable, really."

"You are far too haughty in your belief that you know all there is to know of the female sex. I must warn you that gossip is a powerful thing in the eyes of a woman, and far too often, she will take it to be truth. Neither my wife nor yours is stupid, and you must take care to remember this fact. You'd best be careful of what you are inclined to believe, and of what is reality."

Derek was silent. Around the two, the grasses waved in the air, their whispers echoing through the empty fields. The sun had moved higher, although it still kept the two figures out of its sight, casting them in perpetual shadow. Finally, Derek broke the hum of these ethereal voices. "If I make her so miserable, if I cause her so much pain, if you knew that, then why force us into marriage?" he inquired, picking up a blade of grass, and rubbing it absentmindedly. "Come now, you must know that this is what you are getting at. I suppose you also want me to learn to love her, which I doubt is possible now. Yet, I cannot quite understand your thinking in this matter in general. I make her miserable; you've all but said it yourself. I was not the best man, I know. How can I be? But yes, yes, first tell me why you forced this marriage upon us both."

"Because you didn't leave her. You learned of her condition before we did, and yet, strangely, you did not leave."

"I hadn't the money or the time…"

"Don't play daft with me, boy. You may fool others, but I know you far better than that. You are a charming man."

"You flatter me so, in your belief that I am such a man."

His father's countenance was unwavering in its firm conviction as he continued speaking. "I've seen you trick far more women than I care to imagine. You might have left the town quickly, taken up with some woman in London. We both know this is true. Therefore, I must imagine that you had some sort of feelings for the girl. Some sort of love, I suppose."

Derek let out a mirthless laugh. "I understand it all now, Father. You are not a man to concern himself with the matters of the heart. It does not suit you to pretend to do so, either. Speaking under such false pretenses is the mark of a woman, not of men. Let us then address the main purpose of your talk. It is simple; you wish to see in me what you could not be. It's so strange that you should speak of marrying for love. You wouldn't quite know what that's like, now would you, father?"

The elder Venturi paled, his lips tightened into a frown. It was true enough that he knew little of love; neither of his marriages had been forged in love. His first marriage had been much like that of his sons; she was with child, and it was the only thing he could thing of to do. He had cared for Abby, to an extent, but he had never felt anything that amounted to love, or so he imagined. His current marriage was a marriage of convenience. Both needed another, and he respected the woman far more than he had respected his first wife. Yet, this marriage involved little love, just as his previous marriage had.

"What you speak of has little to do with anything."

"Oh, but doesn't it, Father? Doesn't it have everything to do with what you speak of? You wish me to live the life you couldn't, do you not? You wished dearly for me to become a teacher, a schoolmaster, in London, perhaps. Go to college, Cambridge, maybe, just as you wished. Did you think that with a wife I might have done so? Did you imagine that because she was smart, we might still achieve your dreams?"

George was still. His face held the blankness that Derek remembered far too well. Often, as a boy, he had wondered what his father felt behind that stony stare. Now, as he felt a sort of connection between himself and his father, he felt he might understand that look. Yet, he too knew that he was not his father, nor did he wish to be.

"I merely wish that you live a life of happiness," George said.

"I don't imagine that is possible. It wasn't for you, and neither shall it be for me. Oh, we are the damned, Father, you, me, my wife, all of us. I disgust you, and her, but I don't disgust myself. Why should I? Why should I think about my life, her life, anyone? Why care for that which cannot be changed?"

"You have a child," his father replied. "I thought you might change."

"You thought wrong."

"Derek…"

"I have to leave, Father. I have work to do. Yes, I work. I don't enjoy it, but I do it. After all, I have a wife and child to keep. I can't be letting them down, now, can I?" With the ghost of a smile playing upon his lips, Derek nodded at his father.

"Be careful, Derek. Fate has a strange way of extracting her revenge."

"Fate has already begun to collaborate with the Devil to take my soul."

* * *

At fourteen years of age, Lizzie McDonald was losing her girlish body form, her limbs and face molding into a shape that held the promise of one day being a great beauty. Already, her face had started to take on the flush of maidenhood, and it was thought that quite soon, she would be moving into the stage of her life in which womanhood is in full bloom. 

On the cool March day, she was to be in charge of the new baby. Her instructions, repeated to her by her stepfather, had been to keep the child indoors. It was too young to leave the house, he said. Yet, Lizzie, who could not imagine a worse fate than being locked inside the home, stifled by the constraints of the walls, suffocated by the ever-burning fire, had bundled up the child, and had taken him out doors, aware of her disobedience, but beyond caring.

Lizzie was not as learned as her sister had been. Yet, she possessed a sort of unnerving knowledge of things that often went unseen. She was a quiet girl, thought at one point to be dumb, as she so seldom spoke. She was wont to entertain those youthful fancies of running away, of forgoing her place in society and living as freely as a man. However, they were only the musings of a girl, and she knew that what she dreamed of, that is, a life of adventure, far away from the quiet of the country, was simply not possible. She did not complain, for that too was a futile effort. Her sister's mistakes had placed this young girl in a position of great delicacy: she could no longer frolic about in keeping with the nature of her girlhood. The constraints of society were thrust early upon herself, and upon her stepbrother. They were at that time in life that children should be enjoying their last years of careless pleasure, and now, they had not even that.

On this day, she was walking through the valley, her skirts pulled up a bit as she allowed the grasses to tickle her legs. She stopped quickly, however, upon hearing the sound of a horse, plodding through the valley. She turned, pulling the baby tightly to her chest, and as she looked, she found the source of the sound to be a man and horse, wandering through the tall grass.

"Hello there, miss!" called the man, coming nearer to where she stood. Cautiously, she approached, not recognizing him as a native to the parts.

"G'day, Sir," she murmured as he started to pass her. She expected him to keep moving. He stopped under a nearby tree, however. She started to walk away; it was not seemly for her to stand about, not with this newcomer in her spot.

"Wait, please, you needn't leave, Miss," he called, noticing that the young girl had started to hurry away. "I need only rest for a moment, with my horse. He's gone a bit lame, you see, and I felt he needed the pause. He's a silly animal, to be sure, but 'ees a good one yet."

Lizzie stopped her movement, and turned to approach the man carefully. He was perhaps twenty, a handsome man dressed in the fashion of one fit for working. Yet, his breeches were of finer quality that most she had seen, and he spoke quite well for a laborer.

"Perhaps you ought to check his feet, if you don't mind my saying. He might have a stone lodged in his foot; that will often lame an animal, especially in these parts. It can be quiet rocky hereabouts." She was quiet, looking at him in a way that only a young girl can do. Realizing how rash she had been, she blushed prettily. "Of course, it is not for me to say. I just thought I could perhaps be of some…" she trailed off, and he smiled at her.

"I've not thought of that. You might be right."

"Here, allow me to take a look," she said, leaning down, forgetting the baby for a moment. She stumbled with the weight of the child, and the man quickly grabbed a hold of her.

"No, no, Miss. I'll do it." He went about examining the animal's feet. "Oh, yes, yes! A stone, lodged right where he has gone lame. Why, Miss, I believe you might have been right. Come 'ere, horse, walk on. Yes, he is better." He looked curiously at Lizzie. "Why, how interesting that you should know such a thing! Quite a curious thing for such a young girl."

"We lived with my grandfather, on his farm, for a time. I helped tend to the horses. I suppose I must have learned it there," she told him. "May I ask where you are headed? We don't see many strangers here."

"I was trying to get to town…"

"Town! Why, how did you manage to find yourself up here? Town is a mile or two that way," she exclaimed with a smile.

Her face was alive, her cheeks flushed with cold and exuberance of youth. The sun joyfully cast its rays around her, shooting streams of gold through the loosened strands of her dark hair. The man could not help but smile as well, for the joy of this youthful visage was infective.

"I'm afraid I've never been much good with directions," he told her with a laugh. "Might you be so kind as to point me towards the path?"

"Oh, you'll never find it one your own, sir. Here, allow me to help you a bit. I can get you on your way." Lizzie knew the social constraints that now fell upon her. With Casey gone, married in shame, it was clear that the burden of finding a smart match and of restoring the reputation of the family was now her responsibility. To escort this man was, she thought, to break those bonds. She felt this to be silly, however. How could helping a stranger possibly reflect ill of her and her family?

"If it is not a bother to you. You have the child…"

"Oh, 'tis of no worry. The baby could use some fresh air; my mother seldom sees fit to bring it outdoors," she quickly said. She had taken an interest in the man, for it was seldom that she was able to converse with one not from the small town. She wished to ask him all sorts of questions, but she stayed quiet, remembering the constraints of her position.

"My name is Peter. Peter Hopkins," he offered, understanding somehow what the girl was asking

"Elizabeth McDonald," she replied, silently giving him her thanks.

"I come from Dorchester," he continued, answering what was inevitably her next question.

"Dorchester! My sister lives there with her husband. Oh, tell me, have you heard of her? Cas…Mrs. Venturi," she amended, remembering with shame the name of the man her sister had married.

Peter didn't look at her, letting his eyes fall downward. He knew the name quite well. He had worked before with her husband, a cold and careless man who cared far more for his drink than his wife. As for the wife, her reputation had spread throughout the town. She was also a cold woman, far too proud for her station in life, they said. He'd not met her before, for he seldom traveled around the town. Still, he'd heard the whispers, the accusations that she was a most miserable creature, despised by her husband, and without any friends. She lived with only her child to love now. A pathetic little thing, they said. Sickly, too.

Peter could not tell this young girl these things. She looked up at him, her dark eyes wide and hopeful. She'd not had any truthful news from her sister, he realized. She wished him to give her something akin to the truth.

"She fares well. I myself have not met her before, but I've heard of her beauty from others." This much was true.

"Is she happy?"

"Yes." He could say nothing else, not to this girl. She now smiled at him, happy with her youthful naivety.

As they walked on, she chattered on gaily, in the manner that a girl is wont to do. She laughed lightly at his words, and he couldn't help smile at her actions, for although she often spoke of things far beyond her years, her whole countenance bespoke of a joy that was still in full bloom.

"Why, what is it that you do, Mr. Hopkins? Surely it must be something grand, if it brings you traveling."

"No, I am afraid that I simply work as stone mason. I am called upon from time to time to work in another town. It's a simple living, but I enjoy it."

"That's the most important thing, I think, to enjoy life. It can hardly be worth living if it is not lived in joy," she said simply. Indeed, to the girl, it was so simple as that. Perhaps, though, she was right. Impractical, to be certain, but right all the same.

They continued in a silence punctuated only by their heavy breathing, and by the sound of the horse. Finally, they reached the crest of a hill, under which Peter could see a town.

"This must be it," he said.

She nodded. He followed her as she scrambled down a path, waiting patiently for him to catch up to her. Finally, he found that they had reached the paved streets. He found himself saddened, suddenly, at the thought of saying goodbye to this girl.

"Well, I thank you for your assistance. I'm not sure if I would have found my way otherwise."

"Well, perhaps next time you'll take it upon yourself to know where you're going before you leave," she teased.

"Or, I'll just find you again," he said, immediately regretting his words. She looked down, blushing slightly.

A boys' voice broke the uncomfortable silence. "Lizzie!" it called. She turned towards the source.

"My stepbrother," she said. "I must get going. It was very nice meeting you, Mr. Hopkins."

"Likewise, Miss McDonald." Unsure of what to do next, they both paused. Finally, with a small smile, Lizzie turned. With a final wave, she walked away, leaving Peter to ponder what had just happened.

The boy who had been calling for Lizzie was none other than her stepbrother, Edwin Venturi. He had noticed his new sister speaking with the man, and, as she met him, he asked her about it.

"Who was that man?"

"Oh, just a man, from Dorchester. He lost his way, and I helped him get back," she said, knowing that the flighty indifference of her words would not appease Edwin.

"Lizzie, it wouldn't look fitting…"

"To be speaking with a man I don't know. I know, Edwin. We have to be perfect."

"Hey, that's not my fault," he said, offering her his arm.

"I know. It's just so…" she shook her head. Gratefully taking his arm, the two children walked on, each reveling in his or her sense of injustice.

* * *

On a foggy morning, a figure approached the small cottage inhabited by the young Venturi family. Shrouded by the mist, her cloak pulled tightly to her body, she trudged on, feeling that with the fog came a sort of gloom that she could not shake off. Unwarranted, the thought came to her that perhaps it was a sort of warning, that this was not to be a visit that she would enjoy. Indeed, she looked at this trip with a sort of anxious trepidation, understanding instinctively that it would be one in which she would be forced to play a part, in keeping with the illusion that was certain to be present at the home. The woman did not understand any of this, nor was she consciously aware of such feelings. She knew only that she came for a purpose, and that she had to do what she meant to do. 

"Mother!" called a voice from atop of the hill. She could just make out the hazy form of a girl, waiting, undoubtedly, for her. She climbed up, opening her arms and embracing the girl.

"My Casey," she sighed. She looked critically at the girl, when she had stepped out of the embrace. However, in keeping with her subconscious determination not to understand anything, the woman did not comprehend that her daughters face had grown paler and thin, that the rosy blush no longer tinted the hallowed cheeks, that her dress fell limply on a body that no longer held the plump form of a girl.

"Oh, how glad I am to see you! It seems to me it has been so long, don't you agree? Yes, far too long, but how could it not be? Imagine, both of us with children now. Why, I feel quite different, but a good feeling, I think. Is this so, Mother? Have I a right to feel happy?" Casey said this in such a way that Nora could not, for the briefest of moments, help but forget the circumstances of all the child's birth, and of her daughter's marriage.

"Yes, Casey, it is surely your right." And it was, wasn't it? Had her child not suffered so much? She deserved some sort of retribution, Nora thought. Yes, she deserved happiness.

Arms linked, the two made their way up to the cottage. Nora noted that Derek was nowhere to be found, and questioned Casey about it.

"Oh, yes. He dearly wanted to see you, but last night, he received an urgent post, and had to leave early this morning. I am sure he will be home by evening. He's trying to make all he can, you see, so that we might leave."

"Leave! And go where?"

"Why, we don't know yet. He is a gifted man, though, and there is much work to be found everywhere for an architect. We might leave and go to London, or Paris, or Cambridge, or somewhere else. Not for some time, of course, as the baby is still so young. The baby! Why, come, come and see her, Mother!"

Casey moved quickly through the gloom of the cottage, carefully reaching into a bassinet and gently picking up a small bundle, wrapped tightly in swaddling. Tenderly, she stroked the babies face, walking slowly back toward her mother. The small face peered dully from the woolen blankets, staring unblinkingly at Nora.

"She is lovely."

"She is to be baptized in a fortnight. We've not yet decided upon her name, but we will. My husband is quite pleased with her. How could he not be? Look at how sweet she is. She is a bit colicky at times, but the doctor has assured me that this is normal for a child of her age. However, of course, you already know this! Don't you, mother? How my new sibling fare?"

"He does well. When yours has grown, perhaps you might leave her in the care of your husband, or of another lady, and visit us." She wished desperately to see her daughter in a place far away from here. She wished to see Casey dressed and proper, as she once was. She could hardly imagine the change that had occurred, that forced her daughter into these common clothes, this dreary lodging.

Casey smiled wearily, in the manner of a tired mother. "Why, that would be so wonderful, but I would hardly dare leave her here. Derek, my poor husband, is always working to support us, and he is so horribly tired at night. And the women here about are quite improper. Why, they speak in such a common way, and I would hardly trust any one of them near my daughter, not while she is still so fragile."

The caged birds let out a cry, startling Nora.

"They are lovely, are they not?" commented Casey upon noticing that her mothers attention had turned to the creatures. "They were a wedding present from Mr. Venturi. He said that they reminded him of me. It's silly, really," she laughed. To the unknowing, it would almost appear as though her happiness were genuine. Indeed, perhaps it was, to an extent. Could it be that she had deluded herself into believing her happiness to be real? To ponder this was to ponder the incomprehensible; nothing is foggier than the mind of a woman. Seldom can we understand the goings on of the female mind. Amid the fear, love, hope, fancies, worries, and such, who can say what her true thoughts are composed of? Throughout the ages, the woman has, if nothing else, perfected the idea of complete trickery.

"Shall we then go for a stroll? It is turning to be such a nice day, and the child could use some fresh air."

oOoOoOo

They were scarcely outside when the silence overwhelmed them. Such silence, a reminder of the vast schism now standing between them, they could not abide. Therefore, they spoke, spoke of trivial matters, of the latest fashions, latest gossip, and other such things.

It is a curious observation: when placed in a situation in which there is something to be said, women will speak of everything and anything in order to say nothing. Similarly, when they are uncomfortable, rather than be silent, as they wish, they will continue to talk, saying as much as possible to mask the fact that they have nothing to say. Whereas the man, arguably wiser in these situations, will succumb to the silence, the woman will not, or, perhaps, cannot allow that. Therefore, they will talk about things they care nothing about and pretend that is all they care about.

"Did you hear about Miss Lydia," the mother asks the daughter.

"Why, no! I fear we have little to hear about around here," her daughter replies. She hates Miss Lydia, and cares nothing for what happens to her.

"Well, she has been spending much time lately hanging about Mr. Johnson's store," Nora tells her, lowering her voice. "They say they are quite smitten, and that Mr. Johnson soon intends on making her his wife."

"Why, such a match! 'Tis quite smart, if I may say," Casey replies. She doesn't believe her own words, but that matters little. It does not matter what the words are, but only that there are words.

Speaking with her mother, Casey was not a fool; she was well aware of her own private solitude, and of the schism that seemed to now exist between herself and her mother. It was a saddening thought, and she did not dwell on it for long. After all, there was no reason to do so. If she could just remain convinced that all was good, perhaps, then, it would become true.

The day ended as it had begun; each woman together and alone, standing outside the door of the home, pretending things were as they should be.

"I am very sorry you didn't have the chance to see Derek. He will be disappointed to have missed you," Casey said. It wasn't true, and she and her mother both knew it.

"I must be leaving. I can't be away from my child for that long." An excuse to escape this discomfort.

"We must do this again soon. Perhaps our children could meet, then," Casey said, or, perhaps, pleaded.

"Yes, yes," replied Nora. They exchanged such trivialities for a few more moments before Nora finally broke away.

"Good bye, then, Casey. Remember to write often. Ask me what you like."

What Casey wanted to ask was as simple as how does one stay happy in this role? Yet, she didn't ask, and she wouldn't, for how can one ask a question they don't even realize they need to ask?

**A/N: Review!**


	10. Temptation: Part II

**A/N: Let's wait for the long AN filled to the brim with excuses for my usual lateness until the end, shall we? All that needs to be said here is that this, as you may see, is a flashback chapter of sorts. To help with the timing, I have thus given a time line. I think it goes without saying that the "timeline" I have given you contains spoilers for previous chapters:**

**1873**-Temptation I

**April 1874**-Temptation II

**May 1875**-Baby is conceived

**Late June 1875**-Lilly and William marry

**Early February 1876**-Daughter is born

**Late February/early March 1866**-William and Lilly see parents; Lizzie meets Peter

**I hope this gives some clarity to the timing of the story. Please, read, enjoy, review.**

**Emily**

**Disclaimer: A few of the characters belong to me. Several do not. If they sound familiar, they are probably not mine.**

_April 1874_

In the cool morning air, as the sun ascended the warming sky, two figures walked in stride through the hills of the country side. They moved effortlessly, despite the baskets they each carried, their feet silent as they skirted the fields and the muddy paths, heading resolutely towards the small town, which lay like a hidden city below them, shrouded by the morning mist. The emerald forests were silent, save for the occasional cry of a bird, or the rustle of some creature, crawling through the freshly fallen leaves. The chill of the morning would be gone soon enough, for the streaks of sun were already falling across the country side, bringing with it a promise of a warmer day.

The hills rose and fell in gentle waves, the soft green of the countryside masking the rocks that lay beneath the soft moss. Over the valley, there was but one disturbance; that is, the

Over the rolling hills, through the soft fog, stood the giants of the land. They were erect, cold, towering objects, keeping sentinel over all those who lived in the surrounding country. Their smoky breath rose over the clouds, mixing with the fog, muting the horizontal rays of the sun. One of the giants bellowed it's time; they kept a strict time table, those creatures.

The two women, for such were the figures, carried on a conversation in hushed tones, their voices rising and falling with the sloping path. Their hands, gripped tightly around the baskets, stood evidence of their station, for the hands were of callused quality. The hand of the older one, who looked to be in her thirtieth years, were knotted with time; those of her younger companion, a dark skinned girl who couldn't have been more than seventeen, were still lithe and lean, though they would, in time, become like those of the older woman.

The two women, it appeared, were gossiping. "Well, it's no secret in our household that young Miss Clara has been seein' yer Mr. Venturi," said the older of the two, her voice lowered to a hushed whisper.

"Young Mr. Venturi walks about with many the young lady," the younger said in response. "'Tis nothing to him."

"Ye wouldn't think it, what wi' th' way th' young lady speaks. Why, she says he's going to marry her! Now, my lady may not be as smart as that young Miss MacDonald, but she's no common girl…"

"If your lady truly believes that Mr. Venturi means to marry her, then yer lady is a fool," interjected the young woman. "He's as likely to marry Miss Clara as he is to marry Miss MacDonald."

"Don't be zany, Miss Emily. Many a time I have seen a young man change for love."

"Ah, but for how long has he changed," questioned the girl, Emily.

"He's always around Miss Clara, praising her beauty, her smarts, everything he can think of. Just yesterday, 'ee brought her the most lovely flowers," the older woman said.

"Ah, so that's where those flowers went off too," muttered Emily. "I picked 'em myself, for Mrs. Venturi-she likes to have fresh flowers around her parlor. I picked 'em and then they were gone!"

"Surely you don't think the boy is insincere in his promises!"

"Why, I don't think, I am certain! Oh, don't look so down, Maria; he's a charming chappie, that Mr. Venturi. Who can blame the girl for fancying the boy?"

"Tell me, Emily, what is it that the girl ought to watch for? I've seen nothing wrong with their courtship."

"Perhaps you are right. I don't believe it to be true, but, I do so hope it is; Miss Clara is a lovely girl. Oh, well now, 'ere's my first stop," she said, for, during their discussion, the two women had traced the path leading to the town.

"Goodbye," called out Maria, continuing along her path. She smiled to herself; certainly, the Venturi boy would not be messing about with her mistress, for he was, undoubtedly, aware that the girls older brother had just arrived home after being abroad for some time. And everyone knew that Max Newborn would protect his family's honor to the death.

o0o0o0o

In the drowsy afternoon, as the forest fell into a deep slumber, waking only to rustle about, their came, arising seemingly from the thicket of trees, laughter was heard. Two figures, that of a boy and that of a girl, emerged from the depths of the forest, clothing mussed, the girls bonnet having slipped so as to give a glimpse of her light hair.

"Oh, Miss Clara, why must you run from me so?" the boy asked, pausing by a tree as he watched the girl move away from him.

"Why sir, certainly you haven't decided to give up," she replied with a smile. Her lover grinned back, moving towards her, and grabbing her arms.

"You are a wild one, Miss Clara," he whispered in her ear. She looked up at him, tilting her head away with a practiced charm that so many ladies are accustomed to.

"You oughtn't say such things to a young lady, Mr. Venturi, not unless you've promised yourself to her," the girl, Clara, replied. Her face was shaded by the row of trees, her face round, her features pretty, marking her as a child of the country. She turned, now, to embrace the boy. At sixteen, she was a charming girl, her lineage not as prestige as many others, perhaps, but still, her name bore a faint trace of the esteemed families that had once reined before her.

They had little time for their flirtations, on this day, however, for it happened that, coming from a path leading out to the town, came the figure of a tall brunette, Casey MacDonald. As she approached, Derek observed her dreamy expression as she gazed aimlessly at the surrounding country. She had soon reached the path upon which Derek and the girl stood. Face to face, the difference between the two females was startling. It was Casey's curse not to belong to the country. Her face, her features, her personage, they all seemed far better suited for the enlightened drawing rooms of days long since passed, rather than for the harsh strain of the country life. Such was her incongruity, for she had been born and raised in the country, and indeed, would, in all likely events, die in the place that had rejected her from birth. Perhaps, had she been born as Clara Newborn had been, she would have carried about her a more content air, a less disgusted character.

"Mr. Venturi, Miss Clara, Pardon my interruption." The words were not apologetic; rather, they seemed, as words so often did when voiced by the girl, an admonition. The latter looked down, her face reddened, but the former, he looked gleeful the discomfort of the two females.

"Oh, Casey, why the formalities? Miss Clara and I were just walking about."

"It didn't look as though you were walking from where I stood." It was this haughty attitude that Casey carried that made her the object of ridicule in the town. She well knew that she did not belong there, and looked upon this fact as a virtue, rather than the vice that it was considered by many. Certainly, she could be kind; she was a gentle girl when dealing with the younger children. It was towards her peers that she behaved so oddly. She would scarcely speak to those of the lower classes, and, to her own class, behaved as though she were a sort of queen.

Perceiving, suddenly, and new noise, Clara did not reply; rather, she turned her head towards it origin. A small gig, drawn by a familiar chestnut horse, came down the path. It slowed to a stop upon reaching the three young people. The driver was alone, a young man, perhaps in his twenties, handsome, with the classic look that one would be tempted to associate with a student of some sort.

"My dear sister, why, there you are. Mother sent me to find you. But, ah, I see you have not been alone." His smile faded as he observed Derek. Turning, again, to Clara, his sister, he said, "I wasn't aware that you were acquainted with Mr. Venturi. How is your family, Mr. Venturi?"

"Fine, Max, my dear old friend," replied Derek with a smirk. The man grimaced at his tone, as did Casey.

"But, oh, yes, you aren't alone with him," the man, Max Newborn, said with some relief, as he perceived Casey. "How do you do, miss…"

"Casey MacDonald," Casey said. She smiled at the man, taking him to be a different breed than the other young men that she had been in contact with as of late.

"Well, 'tis rather nice to make your acquaintance. I wish I could stay, but, Clara, really, we must be getting home. Miss MacDonald, Mr. Venturi."

"Goodbye," echoed Clara as Derek helped her up into the gig. She smiled at him gratefully, before turning forward as the cart moved.

As the horse trotted away, Max turned to his sister. "Clara, Mr. Venturi…"

"Oh, Max, don't be silly; he's a different man than he was."

"I find that difficult to believe; I've found that men of that character do not so easily change."

"Max, my dear brother, you've been gone some time; he was but a child last you saw him. He is a kind man, you know." She paused for a moment, and a slow grin crept across her face. "Besides, you ought to learn to like him, for in a few years, I expect that he will become your brother-in-law."

At this, Max turned to his sister, his mouth agape. "He has made an offer?"

"No, not quite yet. But soon, I believe that he will be doing so," she answered.

"He's far too young! He has no livelihood, no money. How could he support you?"

"Well, we would wait a few years, while he took up his trade. He's been apprenticing with an architect, you know. Why, in a few years, he shall be the best architect around!"

With a sigh, Max turned his attention back to the road. They were silent, for a time, before he spoke again. "Who was that young woman, Miss MacDonald?"

Clara laughed. "Oh, you have been gone a long time. That girl is Casey MacDonald, Mr. Venturi's stepsister. Their parents married last year. She's a rather haughty girl, from some town or another. They say she's rather smart, and she certainly seems to believe she is. A rude, rude girl-you would like her, I think."

"Perhaps…" muttered the boy. He shook his head; the day was drawing to an end, and he had to get back home. With the apparent courtship of his sister and Derek Venturi, Max knew, somewhat prematurely, that something terrible was bound to occur.

o0o0o0o

"Derek, who was that man?" Having berated her stepbrother, Casey's thought had turned to the handsome brother of Clara. From her observations, Derek and the man appeared to have once known one another; that the man seemed to dislike Derek only served to make him more appealing to Casey.

"Max Newborn. He's been away for several years, learning a trade of some sort. He's a rather senseless boy, always was. He always had a certain degree of superiority about him; he never liked me, as I ensured that he didn't think too highly of himself."

"Well, I am quite sure he's a good deal more sensible than yourself. What are you playing at with Miss Clara? Have you no shame? You are walking shamelessly about with her, giving reason for the whole town to gossip," Casey admonished. Derek shrugged; his character was such that he didn't care much for his reputation. He was of the sort that based his life upon his sudden impulses, giving little thought to any consequences that would inevitably follow. He was not stupid, and, perhaps, could have become a student of some sort, had he cared to try.

"Oh, that affair," he said flippantly, referring to Casey's comment about Clara Newborn and himself. "It is nothing; simple fun, that is all. She understands as well as I do that nothing serious is to come of it." In truth, Derek did believe what he said. In his pursuit of pleasure, he had taken up the absurd notion that everyone thought as he did when involved. He did not stop to think that, perhaps, the girls with whom he flirted with were more susceptible to childish fancies of marriage and such as he.

"You are really the most horrible person," Casey replied, somewhat halfheartedly, for, in truth, she had not been listening much to what Derek had said; rather, her thoughts remained on the handsome Max Newborn, for, in the town, she had seldom seen another that carried that sophisticated air as he did. She tried to shake this thought from her head, for her plans, until now, had never left room for a man; not yet, at any rate. "But perhaps," she thought, remembering his stylish city clothes, his well-bred voice.

Perceiving that his companion had lapsed into her own musings, Derek too fell silent, and together, they traveled the familiar path home, each lost in his or her own

o0o0o0o

It was to be almost a fortnight before Casey spoke to Max again. It happened, at last, that, walking through the town, having left the school building, Casey was walking along a path that Max had been traveling in his gig.

"Miss MacDonald," he called, upon seeing her. "Your load looks heavy-would you care for a ride?"

"Oh, I couldn't," she weakly protested, for, it is true, a woman can take advantage of nothing unless she had put up that façade of modesty and independence.

Max, following the prescribed script, insisted upon taking her home, and, at last, she allowed herself to be helped into the gig.

"You don't seem to be from around here," observed Max as the cart lurched to a start.

"Well, we arrived almost two years ago," she replied.

"No, I mean, you don't seem as though you belong from the country."

"Oh, yes, well, I suppose not. I hope to leave in a couple of years, after I've finished my schooling here. My stepfather knows people, and he says he can get me into a good training college in some city," explained she.

"Mr. Venturi, he still teaches, then? I remember him well-'tis a good man, quite different from his son," Max commented. As he said his words, he colored a bit. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to offend your family."

"No, you are quite right. My stepfather is nothing like his son. A good thing, too."

"My sister says he has changed greatly. Do you know anything of this?" Curiosity had led Max to ask the question that had invaded his mind since learning of his sisters affair with Derek Venturi. From the answering silence, and the indirectness of Casey's gaze, he perceived that the answer was not at all favorable.

"I do not have any knowledge of how he acted before," said Casey, after hesitation.

"He was a dandy, a boy who cared nothing for anyone else. My sister believes he has promised himself to her. The boy I knew would do no such thing." He felt no shame in divulging these things to the pretty girl beside him; she had shown no propensity for gossip, and, from what he understood, she did not care enough for her stepbrother to lie to protect his honor.

"Sir, I think that your sister may be mistaken, for I assure you, his goals are not such."

They had, at this point, reached the Venturi residence. All the former warmth that Max had held had gone, due, in part, to the conversation. Casey was not foolish enough to believe that he would have any interest in her after this meeting, although she nevertheless lamented the hope that she had held of being in his favor. His countenance was now one of anger and betrayal for his sister. He clutched the reins firmly in his hands.

"Have you any idea where I might find Mr. Venturi?" he asked, barely civil. Unable to lie, Casey averted her glance.

"I don't know. Perhaps at the tavern," she said at length. With a nod, Max flicked the reins, and the horse moved into a trot. Wordlessly, Casey entered into the home, hoping that, for some reason or another, Derek would be in the home. As per usual, she found, however, that he was not. With this finding, and finding that the younger children too were out of the home, paying visits, no doubt, with her mother, Casey headed towards the door, and headed towards the familiar tavern that Derek frequented.

o0o0o0o

"Emily, quick, fetch me some bandages, and some water, if you will. I will attend to his injuries," Casey instructed. With a quick nod, the girl quickly moved towards the kitchen, and Casey took it upon herself to follow, moving Derek towards the kitchen as well.

Having come to the tavern, Casey had heard shouts from indoors, and had recognized the voice of Derek. She had burst into the wooden building, grimacing at the foul stench that seemed inherently at home in such places, and had found Max Newborn and Derek fighting as though they were schoolboys. She finally managed to find help separating the two, only to find her stepbrother significantly weakened and injured from the blows Max had dealt out. As she dragged Derek home, she vaguely discerned another female voice crying; it was Clara. Casey would later learn that earlier in the day, Derek, having grown tired of Clara's company, had cruelly dismissed the girl. She had encountered Max on his way to the tavern, and her shameful tears had only served to increase his anger.

Now, having managed to get the Derek home, Casey's only thought was attending to his injuries.

Emily arrived with the materials, allowing Casey to dab Derek's forehead. "You silly, vapid man," she muttered. "I don't see why you had to settle it like this. Oh, you men!"

"So, you did worry for me, Miss Casey."

"I did not say that. Mr. Newborn oughtn't have taken it up with you like this, although he had every right to defend that girls honor. You ruined his sister, after all."

"Emily, we need more water. Go, you stupid girl; don't stand there like a mute!"

"Such a tongue, abusing the maid like that. Why, Miss MacDonald, I didn't believe you were capable of such talk to her. I must admit, you seem quite at home ordering around the help. 'Tis really quite becoming of you," he commented, having observed, with some amusement, the panic and shock on the serving girls face, for she was not accustomed to her mistress speaking in such tones to anyone, save, of course, the elder Venturi son.

"I shan't dignify that with an answer."

"So, why help me now. You wouldn't want to ruin your relationship with your suitor, after all."

"You're family. I can't allow our reputation to be ruined. Mr. Newborn should have spoken civilly to you, not try to defend Miss Clara's honor. She certainly was no lady to begin with, at any rate."

"Of course."

"Then again," she added, "I suppose he was well within his rights, to attempt to reestablish his own reputation. Why, perhaps you did deserve it after all. I ought to tell Emily to put away the dressings; you shouldn't be needing them. And Mr. Newborn was not a suitor."

"What did I do to wrong that man so?" questioned Derek, more to himself than to Casey. Casey, however, upon hearing this utterance, readily answered.

"She thought that you meant to marry her!"

"I never said anything of the kind."

"You made her believe that you loved her, she says."

"I never indicated that my feelings were as such. I merely let the silly girl believe what she wished. Oh, do not look so disgusted, Casey. It would have made little difference had I tried to tell her that I cared nothing of her; the girl was too busy with her incessant chatter, on the most trivial matters, I may add, to allow me to do much else but listen."

Casey looked at him. "You are a heartless man! Have you no pity?"

"She deserved none. She would make a very disagreeable wife, I should think. With her, one may never engage in a rational conversation. She is pleasing to look at, I should admit, but that beauty shall fade, and all one will be left with is her gabber." He looked at Casey, his mouth twitching upward. "I should think you would be proud of me," he added.

"And how, pray tell, is that?"

"She is one of the girl who you find inferior to yourself. No, do not try to deny the truth of my words. You know quite as well as I do that you look down upon the girls of her sort. No, she is not quite as learned as you, it is true. Really, I do believe that you would make a more agreeable wife."

"I've not yet made up my mind to marry."

"And it is likely that you never will. 'Tis a shame. You have a sharp and ready tongue; you would afford any young man good conversation. And, you are not displeasing to look at. Not as lovely as she, nor as lovely as some of the others, it is true, but you still afford one a lovely picture. No, but you shant go into marriage. Rather, I suppose you want, what is it?"

"I shall attend a training college. The prestigious schools, they have begun opening schools for women, you know."

"Ah yes. And you should, no doubt, go into the profession of a governess, as it is the inevitable for a girl such as yourself. A pity, really, that you may find yourself in such a degrading position. Still, I suppose it is the inevitable." He sighed, and Casey continued her tender ministrations to his injuries.

"Well," she said after a pause, "I do know that if I should marry, it certainly will not be to one who is anything like yourself."

Perhaps, with those words, she somehow predicted her destiny, or changed it, if, indeed, such was changeable. If fate is, as one might suppose, immutable, however, it is not, as was clearly seen, without its own sort of warnings. She had unwittingly tempted her future, her words a morose irony when looked upon in hindsight. As it was, she thought nothing of this, nor did Derek, for at that moment, Mrs. MacDonald arrived home, effectively curtailing all further discourse on the matter.

o0o0o0o

**A/N (or, ridiculously long note in which I try to explain myself, and which, as it has no bearing on the story, can be easily ignored): Let's not attempt to think about how long it's been since the last update. I can say that since the last update, I have been to the country in which the story is set (that is, England, for those who may be a bit slow at the moment). Granted, I was there for only three days, and the only time I saw the countryside was on the train going from Paris to London, and going to Windsor Castle, but it's better than nothing, I suppose.**

**To more important matters, expect many updates in the weeks to come, for this story has an official deadline: it must be done by August 20th for reasons that are really mine alone. Thus said, I shall attempt the impossible: that is, I shall be updating every week, which is an entirely new concept to me.**

**I believe that I have now blabbered on enough. Please, review: it truly makes me feel better.**

**Oh, yes, and I mean not to be rude when it comes to Emily's character. The fact is, she is a serving girl, and she is of the peasant class. Having read a good many Victorian novels, I have attempted to treat her in a way similar to that which I have read. Because, you know, if Hardy does it, it must be right.**

**Seriously.**

**Emily**

Postnote: I apologize for the sudden appearance and dissappearance of Chapter 11. I was editing another story, and yes, accidentally managed to upload it here. Give me a break: I'm tired. I've been moving jumps all day.

REVIEW :)


	11. Chapter Eight

**A/N: At this point in the story, we are probably close to half way through, if not further on. In the face of such, I feel that I ought to address a few questions that you may have (not that I would actually know, what with no complaints or anything). First and foremost, I feel that the Dasey should be addressed. I am, believe it or not, a Dasey shipper at heart. I contemplated how wise it would be to tell you this, but, in the end, I decided to go ahead and say it: ultimately, there will be Dasey. One way or another, something'll happen. Take that to mean whatever you like.**

**Second, enjoy this chapter, because something big is about to happen. And I do mean big. But, lest I keep you from reading now. So read, REVIEW, enjoy. **

**  
Emily**

**Disclaimer: And and all character that are familiar are property of somebody else. The stanzas from the poem are from Thomas Hardy's "The Ruined Maiden." **

_"O 'Melia, my dear, this does everything crown!  
Who could have supposed I should meet you in Town?  
And whence such fair garments, such prosperi-ty?"  
"O didn't you know I'd been ruined?" said she..._

_-"At home in the barton you said 'thee' and 'thou,'  
And 'thik oon,' and 'theäs oon,' and 't'other'; but now  
Your talking quite fits 'ee for high compa-ny!"  
"Some polish is gained with one's ruin," said she._  
--Thomas Hardy, from the poem "The Ruined Maiden"

In August, there arose in the normally quiet town of Dorchester was in commotion, for earlier in the day, it had been announced that a carriage carrying a man of great wealth was coming towards the town. As Dorchester stood on the route to London, such was not exactly an unusual thing, and, as such, would have normally not caused such commotion as it did; however, according to old John Sosa, who had been walking along the same path, the man and his young lady were hoping to find accommodations in a Dorchester inn of some sort.

Casey, having not been to the town until the late afternoon, came as the carriage was arriving. Holding her daughter, whom she had christened as Charlotte, close to her breast, so as to shield the fragile baby from the press of the crowd, Casey allowed her own curious nature to best her. She found Sam Jenkins to be in the crowd; grateful to see the face of a man she called friend, she maneuvered her way over to him.

"Mr. Jenkins," she called out. He nodded back in recognition, fighting to get to her.

"What is going on?" she inquired.

"A man of some reputation has just arrived with a young woman, who is, they say, his mistress. They are to start a month long tour, and have stopped here for the night. They heard, I imagine, they the inn was recently renovated," he replied.

"Yes, my husband worked on the renovations. I wasn't aware they were such as to make the inn a gathering place for such gentle-people." Indeed, the renovation work had offered up a very small sum; she now couldn't help but wonder what she had once been afraid to wonder, that is, if they had received a grander payment than that which her husband had brought home.

Now, the spectacle grew, for stepping out of the carriage first came a well-dressed man, of an older age and dignified countenance. This elevated personage, it was rumored, had made his fortune some years ago, when he had invested in some factory or another. He arose from a prestigious family of good social standing, and, as though gifted with the touch of Midas, he had profited from all that he seemed to touch.

The young woman with whom he traveled, was from a nearby town, although nobody could say where, exactly. She herself was from a modest middle class home, and, as such, she could carry no expectations of marriage, for he certainly could make none. Despite this, and despite being widowed less than a year prior, he had become infatuated with her, and determined that she was to be his mistress.

As he exited the carriage, he turned, offering his hand to the woman inside. A small white hand took hold of it, and, in a flurry of silk skirts of brilliant colors, a young woman emerged. She, like everything else touched by the man, was a brilliant sight. Dressed in the latest fashions, and of materials most women in observance would never so much as touch, she carried about her an air of dignity, which Casey could hardly understand. She studied her surroundings as though she were looking down upon some sight deemed below her. Forgetting, it seemed, her own origins, she shuddered, whispering something to her companion, and looking around again with cold and impassive eyes. Her face, stony as it was, showed emotions only once; that is, when she observed Mrs. Venturi, standing in the back of the crowd, her own gaze reflective of her curious nature.

Indeed, it was of no surprise that the mysterious lady should have shown a sign of recognition, and indeed, of glee, when she saw Mrs. Venturi; the woman in question was Clara Newborn, the girl whom Mr. Venturi had once favored as a boy.

Dressed as she was, in garments befitting a queen, it took Casey some time to recognize the girl as Clara Newborn. Upon realization, however, her whole countenance changed. In confusion, Casey could not decipher her own feelings. Was she to be jealous, as the girl, once so below her in life, stood now as a queen among paupers. Yet, then, there was still the moral superiority Casey had always felt regarding Clara; indeed, the girl was now living openly as a ruined woman.

After a moments contemplation, Casey resolved herself that she would talk to Clara if at all possible.

0O0O0O0O0

To talk to Clara was, as Casey soon found out, very much a possibility, for, having seen Casey at her arrival, Clara had also wished to speak to the other woman, if only to gloat. Thus, after her bags were placed in the inn, she wandered outside, on the pretense of getting some fresh air. Perhaps subconsciously aware that Clara would be out, Casey had made it her business to remain in the vicinity of the inn, allowing her daughter to gaze with great curiosity at all that was around her. Having been sick some weeks ago, and having had a difficult birth, it was not often that Casey allowed the little girl to come to the town, for she was ever afraid of the child catching some disease or another.

Now, however, she used the pretense of allowing Charlotte fresh air as a reason for loitering around the inn.

"Miss MacDonald," a woman's voice called out in impish delight.

"Mrs. Venturi," corrected Casey.

"Of course, pardon my mistake, Mrs. Venturi. It just seems not so long ago that I knew you for a maiden, and knew your brother, or, really, your husband, as a boy."

"Of course, he favored you for a brief time, did he not?" Casey answered, a hint of malice in her voice. "Oh, of course he did. He rather upset your brother, if I correctly remember."

"Never mind that," Clara said flippantly. "I see you've a child. So soon after your marriage? Why, I didn't think you were one for children," Clara commented smugly.

"Yes, well, it's been long enough I believe. She's not seven months yet. Have you any children, Miss? Last I saw of you, you didn't, but then, neither were you the mistress of so important a man," Casey coldly observed.

"Do not take up that tone of superiority with me, Mrs. Venturi," admonished Clara. Surely, as she stood, she found that she was superior to the young wife. "I find that you no longer may speak as though you were so morally above myself."

"Yet," spoke Casey, "I am the one who is legitimately wed, and you stand before me a ruined woman, a common mistress, to be played with and then tossed about. Isn't that right? You played for my husbands hand, and he rejected you, left you to ruins."

"If he ruined me, it was surely a good happening. Don't you believe that I am not aware of my position. Of course I am ruined; what else could I be, after your husband's treatment of me? Yet, I've made myself a life. The man with whom I travel, he has handsomely compensated me, and my family. My brother, with whom you had a brief flirtation, he is married now, to a girl of good standing. And don't think for a moment that your reasons for marriage are a secret. Everyone knows you married Derek because of the little maid that you now carry as though it were a legitimate child." The maliciousness of her speech served as a reminder of the uncultured beginnings of this glorious façade of a female; she could not remind herself of the rules she had learned whilst living alongside a man of respectability, and she could not help but revert back to childish gossip to cut down the smugness of Casey.

"You know nothing of my relations with my husband. You are nothing but a common whore, and you haven't the right to speak to a lady of respectable means in that fashion. I beg you to hold your tongue, and let me be," Casey replied in harsh tones. Despite her words, it was clear to Clara that her words had greatly upset Mrs. Venturi. She was a nervous sort of woman, and always had been, when Clara thought about it. To point out the clear reasoning behind her marriage was to disrupt the delicate balance of lies and deceiving thoughts Casey had so carefully constructed in order to retain some sense of dignity, some idea that she still controlled, to an extent, her life.

"So then, you say that you do love him?" Clara alleged with great skepticism.

"He is my husband," replied Casey in a measured tone. She couldn't quite bring herself to confirm this jab of Clara's, for in truth, she wasn't sure what, exactly, she felt for her husband.

"Yes, I suppose so, although how much your husband, I have my doubts. But then, how silly I must be; if there is a child…" she replied, her painted lips forming a cynical smile.

They had, at this point, made their way through the winding streets, and had paused in front of a store to engage in this harsh exchange of words. They were not, however, alone, as they both undoubtedly thought (for if either had thought themselves to be observed, they certainly wouldn't have spoken as they did). From a shop, now, emerged the familiar figure of Mrs. James. Perceiving the confrontation between the girl she had grown somewhat fond of (although she could not quite understand way) and this strange lady, she thought fit to end it by announcing her presence.

"Mrs. Venturi," she called out, startling both women. "It has been some time since I've last seen ye. Oh, pardon my interruption. I didn't see ye there," she said, addressing Clara. "Mrs. Adams, is it?"

"No, it's Miss Newborn," corrected Clara with some embarrassment. Glancing quickly at Casey, Mrs. James was surprised to see, in the girls face, an open look of thanks. It was, she thought idly, perhaps the first kind look she had seen upon Casey's face in all the time that she had known the girl.

"It really is getting quite late," Clara said after a moment. "I must be taking my leave. It was good to meet you again, Mrs. Venturi. Give your husband my love."

"Of course. Goodbye, Miss Newborn." With that, Casey turned away from the girl, looking now at Mrs. James, who had observed the interaction with some interest. As soon as Clara had disappeared around a corner, Casey's eyes narrowed as she looked at Mrs. James.

"How much of what I said to her did you hear," she questioned, attempting, quite badly, not to show her fear of what had been revealed. Aware that Mrs. Venturi did not know that she knew the truth, Mrs. James thought it best to keep it as such.

"I heard nothing; I saw only that you were exchanging harsh words, and that you looked as though you wished her to leave. I thought it best to come out before you did anything hasty."

"I thank you then," said the younger woman. They walked idly, enjoying the last of the suns' rays, which reflected upon the paved paths, forming shadowy patches on the streets, near the storefronts. Shading her eyes against the angry glare of the setting sun, Mrs. James stole a glance at Casey. She walked quietly, her head lowered, the girl in one arm, with the other carefully shading the child's own eyes.

During the summer months, since the birth of her child, Mrs. James, and indeed, many others, had observed a change of sorts in Mrs. Venturi. She remained above the town, in her own mind, looking down upon all she saw, but she no longer secluded herself in her small home. Often was she seen in the town, always with her beloved child with her, dressed always in fashionable clothing while she herself wore old dresses and skirts, stained with time and poverty. She remained strong in the light of the day, her blue eyes forever focused, as though she were occupied by some troublesome thought. She smiled at the girl, however, and, it was generally agreed that she had acquired some softness, and influence of motherhood. Now, she walked alongside Mrs. James, not proud, but certainly not with arrogant shame as she possessed.

"I hear your child was unwell some time ago. Nothing serious, I hope," commented Mrs. James, noting the stifling silence.

"Oh, 'twas nothing, I assure you. She caught a fever last month, and a cough; it gave me a fright, but the doctor assured us that it was quite normal for a child of her age, especially since her birth was so difficult."

"I am glad to hear that. She has become such a lovely girl."

"Yes, I am very proud of her. She will be a lady yet, I tell you, Mrs. James. Already she looks the part. Yes," she said, more to herself now, "she will be a lady."

The two remained silent the remainder of the walk, speaking only to bid one another farewell when their paths diverged.

0O0O0O0O0

As the two women talked, Clara walked away. In the rapidly diminishing light (for she had chosen to walk in a direction in which the sun had already ceased to highlight) she stumbled on the roughened streets. Her fall was, however, intercepted by a man's body, which, at that moment, happened to be passing by. She regained her footing, looking up to thank the man, and then, she gasped. In the doom of the twilight, she could discern the familiarly handsome features of the man before her, and she was surprised to find that the man was, indeed, Derek Venturi.

"Why, Derek Venturi! Fancy meeting you again this way," she said brightly.

"Pardon me, Miss; I'm afraid I don't know what you are talking about."

"Oh, now, surely you must remember me; it is I, Clara Newborn. We knew one another quite well some years ago. Quite well, indeed," she repeated coyly.

"Miss Newborn… ah, yes, I recall it now; you briefly interested me when I was younger."

"Yes, Mr. Venturi, we were quite interested in one another, I assure you. Why, our affections worried my brother so that he took it upon himself to protect me," she laughed, attempting to gain again some of the confidence inevitable lost from Derek's words.

In the dusk, his face was illuminated by a single lamp upon the corner. Yet, still she could make out the familiar features of the man, and she perceived that his face had not changed visibly since she had last seen him. And yet, talking to him, looking at him, she knew that there was some difference between the man who currently stood before her and the man she had once loved. This man was harder in person, his words more measured, less ironical, more cynical. He carried himself gravely, lacking the arrogance that had so defined him as a youth. Still, Clara was a girl who believed fully, and often not incorrectly, that her charms could break even the worst of a person. Flirtation was her weapon of choice in her interactions with men, leading her into the life that she now lived. Barring any sort of judgment upon this life, it could be agreed that, when faced with all she had done, and all that she was, it was, inevitably, better than she could have hoped for.

"I saw your wife, just a few moments ago. I must admit that I never figured ye for a father, nor a husband, for that matter," she said offhandedly, speaking the word 'wife' as though it were some sort of joke.

"I've changed greatly, I suppose," Derek replied. He had not said much to the girl, nor had he moved to flirt with her, as she had rather hoped he would.

"Yes, well, haven't we all, though I must admit, your wife seemed as lovely as she ever was," Clara noted, a sneer of sorts upon her lips. When Derek did not reply, she lowered her voice, and moved closer to the stoic man. "Don't play the fool with me, Derek Venturi. I know just as well as anyone else why you married that girl. 'Twas not love of any sorts that brought you together. I learned something from you: the likes of you and me are not meant to marry; it is disagreeable to our type. She trapped you into it, did she not? She would, I believe, she would do it. So now, you look down upon me, and yet I believe that you envy me for what I have, and for what you have not."

"My feelings are my own, Miss. I do not care to discuss my private relations with you, nor do I wish to discuss my motivations for marriage. I value my privacy, and, thusly, I wish to end this interview with you. I would, however, advise you not to speak ill of my wife whilst within my presence; one would think your suitor would have taught you better," he told her coolly. "Now, I must leave; I've a long walk home, and my _wife_ does not care for it when I arrive home at a late hour. I will escort you to your lodgings, and will see you safely in, but we must leave now." He turned and started walking. In the absence of her footsteps, he turned to see her still stationary. "Come," he called, "you are unfamiliar with these streets, and this is no place for a lady like yourself to roam around in the dark." That said, he paused, allowing the sullen girl to catch up to him. Thus they walked back to the inn, Derek leading the way, and Clara following morosely behind him.

Just as there was a change in Mrs. Venturi, there too was a change in the personage of Derek Venturi. He was more subdued in his actions, or, rather, in the meanings of his actions. He seemed not kinder in any way, but, rather, more indifferent, less alive. His actions were such that one could not read exactly what was occurring in his head, although, to be fair, his actions, it was supposed, never truly expressed his thoughts. Sam Jenkins himself had noted that Derek Venturi was less volatile, and seemed, on the whole, less of a human. He spoke nothing of his wife or child, and, it was suspected, did not speak to either of them whilst at home.

Often, he found himself away from his home, perhaps by his own doing. He remained a constant figure at the taverns, showing any signs of livelihood in the comfort of his drink. Surely, he still joked about while working, making crude comments when it was appropriate, but, nevertheless, it was not the same. Some sort of change had occurred in him following his disappearance for a day some months ago, when he had spoken to his father. His face was one of perpetual thought, it seemed. He would often look out at some invisible force in the horizon, his thoughts and feelings a secret to all but himself. What question he pondered again and again, for there was unquestionably something that plagued his mind, was not to be determined, and often it went unobserved, except for the few who had the privilege of knowing him well. Whether the change was for better or worse could not be determined; Mrs. James, being one of those who most noticed the change, merely hoped that he would not lose what fragile grasp he had on sanity, for when that happened (and she had no doubt that it would), she pitied whoever stood in his way.

As long as Derek did nothing, Sam Jenkins could do nothing as well. He dared not move around Casey Venturi, for lest his tender thoughts towards her reveal themselves unwittingly to her or her husband. He had taken Mrs. James' advice of not making himself available to the girl, in an attempt to temper his own emotions. Yet, often, he could not help but see her, and when she would see him as well, she would often be ready with a kind smile, a small wave, or, even worse, some gentle words of friendship. To avoid such confrontations, Sam had finally resorted to ducking rather shamefully into stores or alley's in an attempt to conceal himself from her.

In their relations at home, Casey and Derek lived as though they were strangers. They seemed to live in two worlds, parallel to one another, and every so often meeting, but ultimately apart from one another. Seldom were words spoken, in contrast to the vicious fights that had defined their relationship since they were young. What had happened was not clear, and could not be explained by either party. Perhaps they had merely grown weary of trying to break one another; neither was broken completely, and yet it could have been for all they knew. There was only one thing that was certain: the silence, neither truce nor hatred driven, was fickle in nature, and below it there was some undefined current, surging and splashing beneath the calm layer that contained it. Inevitably, something would happen, and the silence would no longer master the two. Yet, the emotion, what would happen, remained so uncertain that it was ignored, for to ignore was easier than to acknowledge.

0O0O0O0O0

**A/N: Again, enjoy the lack of action. The next chapter is big. Like, really, really big. Smelly brown stuff is goin' to hit the roof big, and things are a-changin'. Whether it's for the better or not, I can't really say.**

**Now, after you've read, I can really lecture. Reviews. People love them. It's nice to get feedback. I don't have high expectations. I really don't. I've lived with six per chapter, and while I would obviously like more, it's really okay. I understand that the story's nature is somewhat different. But TWO reviews will not cut it. I work hard on this, and I do need some sort of encouragement, or even flames/criticism. Ask anyone who's criticized me: I take it pretty well, actually. I listen, don't cry, etc. Now, I hate idle threats, and I tend not to make threats unless I am serious. I have the story in my mind-there is no reason that I should have to type up the details, and try to convey my thoughts in hard form. I will discontinue the story if I find that it is lacking in readers. A bitch I may be, but even we have feelings. **

**Now, if I haven't scared anyone away, please, leave a review. Anything will do-it needn't be encouraging, even. Just a word. **

**Emily. **


	12. Chapter Nine

**A/N: So, I lied; I said something big was happening, and I meant it, at the time. However, the chapter grew in length, and I found that I spent a good deal on only one of a considerable number of incidents that were to happen. So, I decided to post the first part. The next should be up sometime soon, and that particular part will change everything.**

**Thank you all for the wonderful reviews. They mean a great deal to me, so, keep 'em coming!**

**Emily**

**Disclaimer: Many of the characters are the brain children of some other person. I do, however, own a few things. You'll know 'em when you see 'em.**

o0o0o0o

In September, on a bright afternoon, Casey was in town, Charlotte in her arms as usual. Derek was, on that same day, working on repairs on the church, and Casey had paused briefly to greet him, for at that point, the couple seemed to speak only in public, and only when propriety necessitated it. As Casey was still, a cart pulled up beside her. A man got out, looking somewhat relieved to see Casey. He had been given a few days before a letter that was to be sent to Mrs. Venturi. He had given her such things before, and knew her face, and, on this day, was relieved to find that he would not be required to drive up to her small home.

"Mrs. Venturi, I've a letter for ye, from Salisbury."

"Thank you sir," she replied, taking the note gently from his hand. "I'll send word later if I've any response."

Noting that it was from her mother, she wasted little time in reading it. As she did, Derek noticed that her face paled a great deal. He quickly lowered himself from his ladder, hurrying towards his wife. She clutched her child tightly, causing the girl to cry out, but, in her apparent state of shock, she took no notice of this.

"Casey," he said gently. She looked up, handing him the letter with trembling hands.

"Lizzie has taken ill," she whispered.. "I-I don't know how long ago; Mother did not say. She says only that Lizzie has been quite ill this summer, and that she thought I ought to know. Oh, Derek, she must be all right, she must!" Casey cried. Derek put his arm around her, although he himself showed no emotions.

"There is a man here who was in Salisbury not so long ago. I'll ask of him whether or not he's heard any news from there," Derek said quietly. Slowly, Casey let go of him, biting her lip and looking at the ground, trying, it seemed, to contain herself. To let herself cry, to let herself fall apart, it would be, for the girl, as good as releasing herself of the precious dignity she still held.

Derek impulsively reached for her hand before he left, bringing it to his lips and kissing it lightly. "I'm sure it will be fine," he told her. She managed a weak smile, and watched as he walked away, towards a young man.

"Sir," he called. The man turned.

"Yes Mr. Venturi?"

"You've recently been in Salisbury, have ye not?" questioned Derek. The young man nodded, looking curiously at Mrs. Venturi, who stood a few feet away, her small hands nervously gripping the letter. Beside her, her daughter sat happily on the ground, occupying herself with something unseen, as is the habit of young children.

"Yes, Sir. Last month, I believe it was," the man said after a pause.

"We have relatives in those parts-my wife's family. We've received word that her sister has fallen ill; perhaps you've heard of some talk within the town? Elizabeth MacDonald is the girls name."

"No, I'm sorry to say I've heard no such news. But sir, mind ye, I wasn't there for more than a few days, and surely those with whom I worked would not know of anything of the sort," the man answered apologetically.

"Derek, ask the man if he will be leaving again for Salisbury shortly," Casey called from her position. Derek nodded at his wife.

"You heard my wife; will you be leaving again shortly?"

The man shook his head. "I'll not be going back until late October, ma'am. I am very sorry that I couldn't be of any help. I wish I could give you better news."

And indeed, the man truly did wish to be more knowledgeable in regards to this, for the man was Peter Hopkins, with whom Lizzie had spoken to earlier in the summer.

o0o0o0o

The first encounter had not been the last. In July, Peter had found himself again in Salisbury. Through some trick of fate, by no means unfavorable to either party, he had managed a few words with the girl when he saw her on a path leading to her home. Going opposite directions, they had not talked long, much to Peter's dismay.

He wasn't entirely sure why the girl captivated him so. He did not want her, nor could he, for she was far too young. He had spoken to her very little, and yet, he supposed, there was something in her personage, perhaps the way she spoke, perhaps her innocent and naïve manner, that appealed to him. Seldom did he meet people such as her, and eagerly, he embraced the companionship. Thus said, he found himself, upon his arrival in Salisbury, hoping to have some time in which he could walk among the quiet country paths, in hopes of seeing Elizabeth MacDonald.

This desire was propelled, in part, by the necessity of knowing how she was, and if she was still ill. Hearing of it from Mr. Venturi, he had, since that day, found himself in a perpetual state of worry, fearful that this paragon of life would cease to exist.

Lizzie MacDonald had, in fact, been ill during the summer months. Suffering from some ailment or another, she had been confined to her bed, her mother fearing the worst. She hadn't been frightened, however, in spite of the doctors and their misgivings. She had simply wished to get better, so she could enjoy the last vestiges of summer before it gave way to the morose fall.

Nearing October, the worst of her disease had past, and slowly, she was beginning to regain her strength. In October, news of a traveling man had reached her when she heard her stepfather speaking of the subject (for the man was from Dorchester).

She hurried down to the main room, her cloak secured around her, and her walking boots already on.

"Mother, please, allow me to take a walk," she pleaded. "It is so lovely out there, and I am feeling rather well today. Oh, please, mother, the day is so lovely, and so warm! We may not have another such day again."

Nora looked at her youngest daughter thoughtfully. She was gaining strength, it was true, but she was not to the point that she could be allowed out on her own.

"I'll allow it, if Edwin accompanies you. I couldn't stand the thought of you losing your strength," Nora said after a moments' pause. The last words were left unsaid, but were understood by both: she couldn't stand the thought of losing another daughter.

"I'm sure Edwin has other things he'd rather be doing. I'll be fine on my own; I've walked the paths enough," Lizzie protested. Looking up from his papers, Edwin shook his head.

"I'll gladly accompany you, Lizzie. Anything to get me away from these papers. I think Father is trying to drive me zany, what with forcing me to memorize all of these facts," declared Edwin, pushing a stack of Latin documents away and standing up.

Lizzie wanted to protest, for, while she knew there was no reason to believe that she would come across Peter Hopkins, she carried the irrational hope with her. She wasn't ashamed of her meetings with the man; indeed, there was nothing in them that could, in any way, point to anything other than simple friendship. He was handsome enough, true, but then, at fifteen, she did not care to linger on such thoughts. Nevertheless, her meetings with the man were her own, she felt, and this was something she wished to keep to herself. The man was like no one she'd ever before met, for she had never before traveled out of the countryside, and had never conversed with a person who had seen so much.

Well, she couldn't very well refuse to go for a walk now. With a sigh, she signaled to Edwin to hurry up, a signal that he was happy to oblige.

They took their leave, arms linked as they started amongst the numerous paths that snaked through the area.

"You haven't any reason to keep track of me," Lizzie commented as they strolled silently along. Almost subconsciously, she had taken the lead, and, with a start, she found that she was heading toward the field in which she had initially encountered Mr. Hopkins.

"Of course I do," Edwin answered. "I must keep an eye on you, my dear sister, for you know it's not right for you to be walking alone in your condition, or in any condition, really."

"Why isn't it proper?"

"A young girl, wandering alone, Lizzie, people will talk."

Lizzie shook her head with some disgust. "It's not an uncommon thing; many of the other ladies walk alone sometimes."

"Yes, well, most of the other ladies…" Edwin trailed off, unsure how, or, rather, if he should finish his though.

"They aren't shamed," Lizzie whispered, looking down. Such was true; the gossip caused by the quick marriage of Casey and Derek had, as gossip so often does, branded the family as something to watch. It was never without some sneer, some sly look that each member was watched by others. Speculation as to the dynamics of the family, and as to the relations within, ran rampant through the streets. From the lowest of taverns to dinners of the wealthy in the town, the family could not escape such wicked slanders.

"So, where are we going Miss Lizzie? You seemed determined to get somewhere," Edwin said after a time. Indeed, Lizzie was not meandering in the manner that Edwin would have expected, but rather, was moving forward in a determined path. "Perhaps you have some lover to meet, eh sister?"

"Oh, hush now, Edwin. Don't be daft. I'm not yet ready for such things," she answered, smiling at him.

"Why, Lizzie, you're fifteen! You're practically an old maid, I say. You ought to quickly marry, marry, I say!" Edwin declared with a laugh.

"Oh, yes, of course! How silly of me. I shall go off and marry at once. But, oh, you're still here. Are you not to be at university, making a prodigy of yourself? Come, Edwin, you must make us all very proud. You're lazing about, now, not working to get to the university," Lizzie retorted, joining him in laughter. The two, young as they were, took great joy in speaking of the plans their parents had made for them. Both knew that, inevitably, what they said would no longer be a joke; indeed, Lizzie was to eventually marry (for, said Nora, what else is there for a girl like her?), and Edwin was to go to some university or another, to make a grand scholar of himself (for such was George's dream, to have a scholar as a son).

Such childish amusement was necessary for the members of the family. Without it, there was far too much to wonder, far too much to carry about. They were, after all, only children, fifteen years of age. To allow these weighty goals to burden them was a cruel thing, and yet, their parents, perhaps oblivious to this fact, continually made clear to them their futures. These reminders, subtle as they tried to be, were in the words spoken to the two youths, in the actions of their parents, the looks of their parents. In every aspect of their lives, they were surrounded by hopes and dreams that were not entirely their own. And thusly, they had to behave childishly at times, when they were alone together. Lizzie and Edwin behaved as they should have around one another; that is to say, they behaved as though they had been born of the same mother. They shared none of the unease, none of the ill will of their elder siblings, and such was clear to anyone who watched the two.

The idleness of their walk was quite suddenly broken, for approaching them, they heard the sound of a cart. Lizzie picked up the pace, Edwin following curiously behind her. They came, at length, upon a man in his cart.

The man in question was Peter Hopkins. Upon recognizing Lizzie's figure, he had started to call out, quite impulsively. However, he then took notice of the boy walking along side the girl, and he did not call to her, for he was unsure as to who the strange companion was. From the casual way in which they conversed, and the familiar touches, he perceived that the boy was not her lover. Nevertheless, he waited until they had neared him to greet her.

"Good day, Miss MacDonald. Have you been faring well?" he asked, taking in her appearance up close. That she had been ill was evident still; her face, once rosy and full, now was pallid in hue, gaunt in expression. Her dress and cloak hung loosely upon her lean figure, giving evidence to her weigh loss. Still, he tried not to take notice of such things, for the thought that such a lively girl could become such a pale imitation was an unsettling thought to ruminate upon. He was a man who had seen much in his travels, and he required such a fantasy of innocence as Lizzie had provided to survive and escape those perpetuating memories.

"I have been well, Mr. Hopkins," she answered with some formality. "Have you met my companion, Mr. Edwin Venturi?"

"No, I haven't yet met this gentleman," Edwin interjected, stepping up alongside Lizzie.

"As the gentleman says, we have not had the pleasure," Peter said.

"I helped Mr. Hopkins find his way to town some time ago," Lizzie explained, noting curiosity upon Edwin's face. "I am, in fact, rather surprised that he remembers me."

"You are a difficult girl to forget, Miss MacDonald. She helped fix my horse; such is a strange sort of knowledge," Peter added with a soft smile. Lizzie blushed at his praise, but then quickly raised her eyes, for lest she seem as though she had something to hide from Edwin.

"She certainly is," Edwin agreed with some suspicion as to the meaning of the mans words.

"Miss MacDonald, I spoke to your sister and her husband some time ago; she had recently received word of your illness, and her husband, being nearby and knowing me to have been in these parts recently called on me for information. I had none, but now that I have seen you, how can I respond to any request from Mrs. Venturi? She was in quite a state upon receiving the letter."

"I am quite well, as you can see. It was nothing really; I'm surprised mother even thought it necessary to write to her, for my sister gets so worried so easily," Lizzie replied. In truth, it had not been a simple illness, but rather, had been such that there had, at one point, been a question of whether the girl would perish from it. However, Lizzie, being of the sort who wished not to let her weaknesses show, refused to tell the man these facts.

"Very well; I shall report it to Mr. Venturi when I see him next. He seemed to be quite worried on his wife's behalf," Peter noted. He was rewarded by a bright smile on Lizzie's face.

Edwin, who had stayed quiet until this point, touched Lizzie's shoulder gently. "Lizzie, we must get going. It is getting late, and you really shouldn't be out for this long, not after being so sick. Mr. Hopkins, it was a pleasure meeting you, but I am afraid we must be off."

"Of course. Good day, Miss MacDonald, Mr. Venturi."

"May you have a safe ride home, Mr. Hopkins," Lizzie told him. He nodded, and, giving her another smile, he quickly snapped the reins at the horse, and moved along.

All was quiet, save for the brush of trees as they moved softly against one another. After some time, however, Edwin broke the silence. "Have you seen him often," he asked in reference to Peter Hopkins.

"Not often."

"But you have seen him before, I presume?"

"Yes, a few times."

"Where?"

"Where?" she repeated with some confusion. Edwin nodded. "Why, I met him, as he said, some time ago, when Mother was with Casey and I had charge of the baby. I helped him find his way back to town. And then a few months later, we met, quite on accident, in town."

"Did you speak, when you met in town?"

"We exchanged a few words, but we did not talk long. He inquired about the baby, and I asked about his horse, and if he had heard anything about Casey and Derek, for you know how terrible Casey is at writing to us," Lizzie told him.

"Did people see you, when you spoke?" Edwin questioned, any trace of his former good humor having since left his face.

"I suppose they did; we were in public, and we made no effort to hide," she answered with the honesty that is so particular to girls of her age.

"So, you were seen," Edwin confirmed.

"Yes, as I told you already. Really, Edwin, you ought to at least pay attention when I reply to your question."

Lizzie, perhaps…" Edwin faltered, unsure as to how to word his warning. "Perhaps you oughtn't see him again," he finished. Upon seeing her look of surprise, he quickly added, "You haven't seen him often, so it shouldn't be very hard to break any ties with him."

By this point, Lizzie had paused, and had turned to look disapprovingly at her step-brother. "Edwin, what are you talking about? Why should I not speak to Mr. Hopkins? He is respectable enough."

"It just doesn't seem right for a young girl to be on such terms with a bachelor such as he. People have enough to talk about as it is," he said.

"Surely they can't think anything of me," Lizzie declared after a moments pause. Edwin looked at her, marveling, as Peter had, at her naïve innocence. She was quite unlike her sister in these regards, for, while Casey had tricked herself into believing things she knew to be false, Lizzie simply could think nothing else. It was not in her personality to be cynical, to believe the worst of people. To imagine that people would be as wicked to her as they were was beyond the girls' understanding. "Why should they? I haven't done anything wrong, and I'm far too young to think about marriage or romance," she continued.

Edwin laughed somewhat bitterly. "A fair few girls have lost what they hold most dear at your age, as you well know."

"Yes," she admitted. "And I'm sure with no small amount of help from your brother," she muttered.

"Yes, I've no doubt of that," Edwin agreed. "And I'm sure your sister wouldn't be one to disagree either."

"What has my sister to do with any of this?" Lizzie snapped. The subject of Casey and Derek was a bitter one between the two, for each believed their own version of how such a marriage had come to be.

"You know quite well what I mean."

"No, I'm afraid I don't know what you mean."

"By you own admission, you said that he…"

"Yes, I know what I said. And I believe that once Derek was like that. But, at the same time, I believe that he has changed, and that he loves Casey."

"Are you really going to argue that they married for anything other than necessity? Are you still foolish enough to believe that they are in love?"

"I believe it, and I know it to be true! How can it not be; what could lead them to marry for necessity?"

"A child, as you well know would…"

"No," she told him, "I don't believe it. Now, I don't pretend to know if my sister was with child or not when she wed. I don't know. I used to think not, but now, I can't be sure. But even if she was, if your brother did not love her, do you really believe that he would have married her? He is not the sort to act responsibly, unless it suits him, and marriage certainly does not give him any sort of advantage," she argued.

"I don't profess to know the reasons behind his sudden turn," conceded Edwin, "but I know my brother, and I know that he is, I think, incapable of loving another person."

"Oh, but Mr. Hopkins, he has told me before that they are happy with one another, that they are doing fine!" Lizzie pointed out.

"He can't tell you otherwise, Lizzie!" exclaimed Edwin. "Do you know, have you any idea how hard it is to hurt you, Lizzie? He seems a good man, and as such, how could he tell you anything else? How could he tell you the truth, and watch your heart break?"

"I don't believe that. I can't believe it. I know that Casey must have loved Derek, I must know that, Edwin."

"But how, how could they be so foolish, if that is the case?" questioned Edwin. "We are, after all, paying for their foolishness. Do you believe that we would be so scrutinized had they not gone astray?"

"I don't pretend to like her choice, nor do I approve of it. No, in fact, I rather despise her choice in husband. I don't believe he is a good man, nor can I ever. I believe she ought to have been more receptive to Mr. Newborn, for he would have suited her far better. But she loves her husband, and he loves her, and that is what I firmly believe. It doesn't matter my feelings on the subject."

"They have ruined our lives," Edwin said glumly. Lizzie looked at him with some disgust.

"They have ruined our lives?" she repeated, arching an eyebrow at her companion.

"Yes, as I just said. What have we to look forward to now but some vague shadow of what we want?"

"Oh yes, you have such a life ahead of you! Going to a university, seeing the world, becoming a learned man, how awful of your father to do that to you! What have I in front of me? A marriage, a family, a life stuck here, no doubt. So, don't you complain to me about your fortune, about how horrible your father is, for look at what I have. Oh, but had I been born a man!"

"Lizzie!" he admonished. She looked as though she meant to say something in rebuttal, but she fell into a fit of violent coughing, and, on Edwin's part, all stern thoughts of her were replaced by concern. "Oh, Lizzie, I shouldn't have allowed you to become so upset! How terrible I am, to fight like that when I know you are still weak."

"Edwin, I promise that I am fine. The air is simply dry; it aggravated my throat is all. There is nothing to worry about," she assured him. Nevertheless, she wearily took his offered arm, and allowed him to escort her back home, without another word on their recent discourse.

o0o0o0o

A/N: I realize this was a rather odd chapter, in that it did not have much of Casey and Derek. The next chapter may or may not make up for that. After all, any of the characters are fair game for the Really Big Thing (or, RBT, if you will). Stay tuned, and leave a review.

Emily


	13. Chapter Ten

"Why, Edwin, why must you say such things

**A/N: I had a lot of difficulty writing this chapter. I kept adding things, and then taking away, and then adding on again. What you now see is the final product, stripped of a good many things that I thought about adding. Please note the changes in time. No, I am not going to go all **_**The Sound and the Fury**_** on you (I doubt I could stand to think about that novel again!), but do pay attention, because we go through a couple of years here. **

**Thank you to all of my reviewers. Your kind words mean more to me than you can imagine, and I only hope that I keep you all reading. As promised, there is a really, really Big Thing that happens in this chapter. Keep in mind that this chapter is as much about Lizzie and Edwin and Peter as it is about Casey and Derek. I am issuing a heavy angst warning, because that is only fair. Please, leave a review!**

**Emily**

**Disclaimer: There are several characters that I own, and there are those that I do not. I trust you can figure the difference between the two. **

* * *

_"To believe that the things of this life will endure forever, unchanged, is to believe the impossible..."  
-_Miguel De Cervantes, _Don Quixote_

**0o0o0o0**

The movement of time is a nebulous thing. It is something that cannot be seen, cannot be altered, or touched, but yet, by some, it can be felt. There are those to whom time has little meaning, those who live their lives by the fall and rise of the sun, and by the way the grain grows, the way their crops change. To these peasants, it matters very little what time decides to do, for they leave their lives entirely in the hands of fortune and fate. And for some, time is another thing to be wasted, to be taken advantage of. It is something to be gambled, just as they do all else they own; such are the thoughts of those illustrious persons of great fortune. It is those who fall between that notice the time, passing, at times, slowly, as though old and decrepit, and yet in other times, swift, young, vibrant.

Elizabeth MacDonald was acutely aware of the passage of time, for every moment that passed was one more moment of her childhood lost, and one moment closer to something altogether unpleasing for her. She was all too aware of what awaited her as time passed. She had given up any childish concepts of freedom, or of some future in which she was superbly happy, rendering herself to the inevitability of marriage. Every day she grew older, and the hints, the looks, grew. She was aware of her mothers eye, looking critically at all the young men that passed by. She was aware that her step-father too awaited her marriage, although for a different reason than her mother; he wished her to marry well, for were she to find a well off husband, he could help pay for Edwin's education at some grand university.

Edwin spent his time now keeping a close eye on Lizzie. He had found out about a relationship, however chaste, with a young man from Dorchester. His disapproval of the matter he made clear to the girl, and he kept her now under his watchful eye. He had stepped easily into that role of older sibling, despite being reasonably close in age, and had taken it upon himself to insure her purity and, more importantly, preserve her good name. This stemmed from no desire for her to wed, for her shared her burden of a life unwanted, but, rather, knowing her soul was far more sensitive than most, he sought most to keep her mind well, and keep her as whole as he could. Perhaps, had her sister been around, such would have been her job, but Casey lived, however unhappily, some distance away, and she served daily as a warning of what could happen were Lizzie to succumb to temptation.

Still, despite Edwin's constant watch, Lizzie would manage often to slip by him, and in this fashion, was able to meet Peter Hopkins with increasing frequency. These meetings were not unknown to Edwin, for the glow that surrounded Lizzie seemed to him to brighten at certain times, times, he noted, that corresponded to Peter Hopkins' presence in town.

Often, Edwin would wonder what it was that Lizzie found so endearing in Peter. He had asked her once.

"I suppose," she had answered, "it is because he is unlike any other man I have known."

In truth, she herself could not understand what it was that pulled her to him. Often, on those few days that she would allow her mind to wonder, he would occupy her fancies in some capacity or another. She did not love him, or so she thought, although she knew nothing of love, and did not care to know of it. Nevertheless, she knew she cared for him, and that talking with him brought about her a great joy.

A year had passed by, and Lizzie had turned sixteen over the summer. That November, she passed Peter whilst walking through the market. She paused, indicating that he should do the same. In a soft voice, she whispered, "perhaps we may speak later in the day, in the clearing on the hill."

"I would very much enjoy that," he responded. With a blush, she nodded, hurrying away, eager to speak once more to him.

It was scarcely two hours later that he entered into the clearing, where they had met initially. She was standing some distance away, but, upon perceiving his presence, she turned, running towards him.

"Oh, I am so glad to see you," she exclaimed, stopping when she was closer. "I don't understand why, but I have so wanted to see you as of late. Have you thought of me at all?"

"Yes," he admitted. Indeed, he had thought a great deal about the girl. He was enamored by this youthful visage, this girl who seemed to him something not entirely human, but, rather, a creature of far greater standing. "It has been some time since we last talked." This was true enough, for they had not spoken since July.

"Yes, well, it has been difficult getting away from Edwin. He thinks himself responsible for me, for keeping my name unsullied," Lizzie said casually. "Since I have turned sixteen, I believe that he is getting somewhat worse in regards to the subject."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I am to marry," she told him, frowning as she said so.

"Why, you are far too young, are you not?" he exclaimed. "Is it not the custom now to wait a while before marriage?"

"I am nearing sixteen, and my mother doesn't mean for me to marry now, exactly. But within a few years, I expect I should be."

"That doesn't seem quite right, not for you," he said, looking at her with compassion.

"You sound like my sister," Lizzie replied. "She once described marriage as that horrible fate that we, as women, are so often subject to. She frowned upon marrying so young. Of course, once she fell in love, she changed her mind. I expect that I too should change my mind."

Peter was not fool enough to understand the complication that this implied. Lizzie had grown, and grew still, lovelier and lovelier. To ignore the blossoming womanhood was something Peter knew he could not do, and he found himself ashamed to be looking at his young friend in a light that was not all together chaste. He took no notice to the fact that Lizzie was still speak, nodding here and there, his mind disturbed by what he had recently learned.

"Lizzie!" a voice called from some distance.

"Oh, he's followed me," Lizzie moaned, looking apologetically at Peter. "How I wish we could speak longer, but I fear Edwin is coming this way, and as I said, he does not approve of our meeting."

"Of course; I can understand why," Peter replied. "Miss MacDonald…"

"Please, I've told you, call me Lizzie," she interjected.

"Miss Lizzie, he is quite right; this is not proper. I have declared no intentions towards you, and thus, to be seen walking about with you cannot be good for either of us. I don't care much for my own reputation, but I care a great deal for yours, more, perhaps, than I ought to, in fact."

"What are you saying?" questioned the girl, her eyes widened in innocent naivety.

"I am saying nothing," Peter answered, ashamed of his weakness. He had intended to tell Lizzie that they should not see one another again, for he knew that no good could come of their meetings. As it was, Lizzie was in trouble enough with Edwin Venturi, whom, it appeared to him, had taken over the role of protectorate.

"Good! Now, I must flee, for lest Edwin find me here. His temper is quite a sight. I don't fear him, of course, but still. Goodbye, Mr. Hopkins! May we meet again soon," she called. She turned, and lightly glided away, laughing as her long, dark hair flew our from under her hat, her arms opened as to embrace the wilderness that she seemed so much at home in.

With a smile, Peter turned. However, he soon found that he was not along, for coming toward him, he perceived Edwin Venturi, his handsome features set in a deep frown.

"Mr. Hopkins, is it? May I have a word with you," Edwin said, coming up along side Peter.

"Of course."

"Have you seen Miss MacDonald recently? Oh, you have! I see it, you have seen her," Edwin accused.

"I do not deny it," Peter admitted.

"Nor could you, for I see the look upon your face. Tell me, has she said anything to you about her situation?"

Peter nodded. "I assume you speak of her families desire for her to wed, and your desire to keep her from speaking to me alone. I understand you, Mr. Venturi, and I wish I were stronger, for were I, I might refuse to see Miss MacDonald, as I well should. Yet, she asks me, and how can I refuse her?"

"Yes, it is difficult to begrudge her anything," Edwin said with a faint smile. "I cannot blame you. Yet, I ask, not because I dislike you, but because it is my duty to keep her safe, if you have any intentions towards her. I do not doubt that your affections towards her, whatever they may be, are strong. Yet, as you are aware…"

"Indeed, Mr. Venturi, you need to say little else, for I am aware of this. No, I must not see her, I know. I tried to tell her as much, but, the fool I am, I cannot. Perhaps were she older…but no, no, marriage is not my priority now, nor will it be for some time. I ask you, then, to help me stay away from her."

"Of course, Mr. Hopkins, that I should willingly do. I am sorry for your difficulties, and I wish you no ill will," Edwin said in turn. "Good day, Sir."

"Good day."

And with that exchange, it was over. However, as Edwin expected, Lizzie was waiting for him to finish speaking. Immediately upon seeing him, she called out his name, and started toward him.

"Edwin! What right have you to be so rude?"

"Lizzie, we merely talked. It is my duty to ensure that you stay above the gossip, and, as Mr. Hopkins will admit, he cares too much for you to be trusted. You know people will speak ill of your relationship with him," Edwin explained. "He himself has admitted the truth of my words, and has agreed that it is best that you not speak so fondly."

"No!"

"Lizzie, he is a man, and you are an innocent girl. Such things cannot be ignored."

"Is it not possible, then, for two people to be friends? Must it always be a scandal? I don't think…"

"No," interjected Edwin, "you don't think. You don't understand. I have spoken to Mr. Hopkins, and I believe his feelings towards you to be more… amorous than they ought to be," he told the girl with some hesitation.

"What of that? Perhaps you are right, which I don't believe. Would that be so terrible, if he loved me? He would be a good match, I think. I could love him, unlike many others here."

"Lizzie, you know that is a foolish thing to say. I never said he was in love with you, but rather, that he felt something more than he ought to. You must learn that these things are often inevitable in men." It hurt Edwin to say these things, for he could see the pain in the countenance of his step-sister.

"Why, Edwin, why must you say such things? Why can't you allow me to think what I wish? I'm not so clever as you; I can't immerse myself into my studies, and forget all that has happened, although I wish very much that I could. So why must you break my fantasies, my beliefs, for those are all I have to keep my sanity," she cried.

"Lizzie…" Edwin started, moving to touch her gently. She pulled away from him.

"No, don't touch me, you cruel man. Yes, yes, you are a cruel man. You try so hard not to be, but you are cruel, just as your brother is."

"I am nothing like my brother," he bellowed. "And, if I am, than you are like your sister!"

They stood glaring at one another for a time, silent, the air heavy with tension. Finally, Lizzie looked away, and, in a small voice, said, "Edwin, I don't really think that of you, I just said so because I was terribly angry."

"I know, and I meant nothing when I answered you. I was angered because I fear, as you know, turning out like my brother."

"Then let us promise one another than we will not allow ourselves to turn out as our siblings did, because although I love my sister, I do not wish to be like her."

"Yes, let it be," Edwin agreed. Yet, the worry that her accusations had instilled in him did not leave, but rather, merely subsided, for he well knew that it was commonly expected that he would prove to be the disappointment that his brother was, and indeed, with such heavy expectations, how easy it would be to fall.

**0o0o0o0o0o0**

It was an unusually late hour in late November, a year after that fateful discussion between Edwin and Lizzie, that Mrs. James awoke to a pounding on her door. She paused upon hearing it, trying to discern whether it was the wind or a person calling upon her.

"Mrs. James, please, open your door!" a mans voice called in desperation. Quickly, she pulled on her dressing gown and opened the door. She found, to her great shock, that the caller was an unusually nervous Derek Venturi. The storm that was threatening the area had not yet begun, although the whispers of the wind promised its arrival within the hour.

"Mr. Venturi! Why are you calling, and at this late hour?" questioned the older woman. Indeed, what should have caused the young mans current state puzzled her.

"It's Charlotte; she has taken ill, and Casey fears for her."

"Do you know what is the matter?"

"Her breathing is labored, and that is all I know. I came home not even an hour ago, and found the girl unconscious. Casey believes you may be of some help. I suppose she trusts you, after your help in keeping her alive during Charlotte's birth,. She wanted to come and get you, I believe, but she was such a state of nervousness that she could not," Derek told her.

Mrs. James wanted to ask the young man why he had been out so late, why he had not been with his wife. Yet, she sensed that such was not important, and even so, that the answer would invariably be one that would bring more shame to Mrs. Venturi.

"Have you sent for the doctor?" she asked.

"I've already called upon Mr. Jenkins, asking him to fetch the doctor," rejoined Derek. "Now please, let us leave; I fear that the girl is in some danger."

It was peculiar to hear Derek speak so passionately about his daughter. Certainly, he had not shown the hatred that he showed his wife; rather, he seemed to treat the girl with a certain apathy. Still, she could not question it, for when she came to their home, she indeed found the girl unconscious.

In the dim firelight, she perceived that the girls' breathing was labored, her face retaining a bluish tint. Although she was near the fire, wrapped in blankets, the girl was shivering. Next to her, Casey held a small hand, her pallor sickly and her eyes dark with worry.

She spoke a few words to Casey, and then turned away, motioning towards Derek.

"How long ago did you send for the doctor?" she questioned.

"I came from Sam's home to yours," he replied. She glanced briefly back at the child and mother. "It is bad, then," he concluded.

"Yes, I am afraid so."

From her position by the fire, Casey turned. "Where is the doctor? Why does he not come?" she cried.

"Mrs. Venturi, I fear that it shan't make a difference whether he arrives or not. All that can be done has been done; I fear you may only try to make her comfortable now."

Upon the walls, the shadows from the fire towered above the young mother and her child. They loomed over the room, playing deaths guards, awaiting, it seemed, the arrival of their master. The wind outside played a mournful tune as it clamored to enter the home, wishing to bear witness to the inevitable exchange of souls.

With haunted eyes, Casey abruptly stood, gathering her daughter into her arms. "If we can't afford to wait for the doctor to arrive here, then let us take her to him!" she declared. Throwing her cloak around her shoulders, she pushed passed her husband and Mrs. James.

"Mrs. Venturi, you cannot make it to the doctors in time!" called Mrs. James. "Please, Mr. Venturi, you must stop her," she pleaded. Slowly, Derek shook his head.

"Mrs. James, I thank you for your help, and I am sorry for bringing you out at this hour. However, I am afraid that there is nothing else that you can do here. It is now in the hands of fate. Go, for it this is no time for a woman to be out of her home. I shall do what I see fit with my wife. Come, I will escort you home; it is on my way."

Solemnly, the woman nodded. It was, she found, no use to argue with Mr. Venturi. His present state was such that she could scarcely believe it to be him. It was thus with great reluctance that she parted with him upon reaching the walk to her home. She stood at the door, pulling her cloak tighter around her, watching the man move slowly against the unceasing gusts of wind.

**0o0o0o0o0**

Upon reaching the home of Doctor Stross, Casey fell against the door, fatigued from her frantic walk to town. She cried pitifully at the door, until a maid answered it.

"Please, my child…" Casey murmured. The woman looked down at the still figure wrapped tightly in blankets.

"I am afraid that the doctor is unable to see anyone," she said.

"Please, my baby…"

"I believe that it is not a doctor that you need now," the woman returned. "I am very sorry."

The door closed with a jarring crash, the wind facilitating its closure. The first drops of rain had begun to fall, increasing with steady frequency. Casey turned away, hurrying down the deserted streets, her eyes darting from side to side in search of some haven. She found her salvation (for so it seemed) at the old church, where she had entered in a daze some years ago. The doors were opened, as they always were, and Casey hurried in.

The church, which in other times seemed so welcoming, had turned its back, as everything else had, upon the girl. The cavernous room, unlit as it was, seemed refuge to demons and ghosts, their whispers echoed in the room. The relics upon the alter seemed strange in the darkness, looking less like the instruments of salvation and more like those of the devil himself. Casey hurried down the aisle, towards the traitorous alter. She fell, at last, to her knees, laying the still girl upon the steps.

"Please," she prayed, "please." She could say no more, and indeed, there was nothing else that could be said, for the answer was clear. She lowered her head, resting it lightly on her daughters body. Her head did not rest long; she pulled away violently, shaking, looking around. "No!" she wept, taking up the girl and cradling her in her arms. "No! You cannot do this! Have I not atoned for my sins enough? Have I not devoted my life to such a cause? You cannot have her as well. I shall not allow you to have her!" With a cry, she broke into sobs that seemed to come not from a woman, but rather, from some possessed creature.

The doors behind her opened after some time, although she could not say how long, exactly. A faint light moved towards her, illuminating two men. Derek had met back with Sam while making his way to town, and had asked his old friend to come with him, knowing, instinctively, that both would be needed. They approached slowly, and when they reached the sobbing woman, they stopped.

Gently, Derek allowed his hand to rest upon his wife's shoulder. "Casey," he endeavored, "please, you must let go."

She shook her head, holding the still body closer to her. "I can't, Derek, I can't allow him to take her from me."

"It is too late, Casey, it is too late," he replied.

"My baby…" Slowly, she placed the little girl on the ground. Derek took the light, allowing it to shine upon the girl. Casey allowed herself to gaze on the sight. Upon seeing that her daughter was dead, she uttered an anguished howl, and fell into a swoon.

Derek kneeled before her, gently brushing his daughters face, allowing his hands to trace the delicate features. He was still for a moment, and although Sam wondered what he was doing, he dared not break such meditations. Finally, Derek rose.

"Sam, please take the body and…" he dared not finish.

"Of course. Would you rather I help with your wife? I am somewhat stronger…"

"No, I can take her. Please just do what you will with the girl. We will need to arrange her burial as soon as possible."

He took Casey into his arms, and looked down at her face in sorrow. "What we have done," he whispered, glancing once more at his daughter's body. "Dear God, what we have done!"

**0o0o0o0o0**

**A/N: If nobody reviews this one, I'll KNOW I'm not doing my job as an author. Please, comments, concerns, flames, questions, flames (I do enjoy those flames!), send them in a review. I will be very willing to answer questions pertaining to what has just happened.**

**Review!**

**Emily**


	14. Chapter Eleven

**The child that Casey and Derek had once looked upon as a curse was, in fact, a blessing, as they came to learn in the weeks fo**

**A/N: It would seem that I have much to apologize for. Not only is this chapter a long time coming (a fact that I blame entirely on a very busy past few weeks), but it is somewhat short and will warrant a serious warning before reading (please, see below). That said, I want to thank everybody for their wonderful reviews…who would have thought that killing off a character-a somewhat minor one at that-would elicit such a response? Thank you, and I hope that you enjoy this chapter as well.**

**Emily**

**WARNING: Please note that there are serious religious issues discussed in the following chapter that I feel may offend some readers. Please, keep in mind that any views expressed are not necessarily my own views, and I have merely tried to write the characters as I believe they would be. I am deeply sorry if I offend anybody, for again, I do not agree with all that is said below. It was, however, necessary that this be written, and for that, I will not apologize.**

**Disclaimer: It isn't mine. Damn.**

* * *

_O, woe is me! Who am neither a dweller among men nor shades, the living nor the dead. _

-Sophocles, _Antigone_

**0o0o0o0o0**

The child that Casey and Derek had once looked upon as a curse was, in fact, a blessing, as they came to learn in the weeks following her death. Charlotte had been their reason for marriage, and, to an extent, Casey's reason for perpetuating her fantasies of a good life. Along with Charlotte, any hopes Casey might have once held were buried as well.

To hear her on that day that they buried her daughter was to hear pain in its rawest form. Indeed, there is nothing so haunting as the cry of the broken mother, to whom life has been nothing but cruel, and who must live to see all that she has ever loved destroyed. Such a mother, such a woman, rather, for no more was she a mother, is the true epitome of anguish, for she has no one to turn to, no lover to comfort her, no friend to sooth her as she cries. She alone must deal with all that has been given, and alone, she finds that she is too weak to carry such a heavy burden.

Had there ever been any doubt as to some dark secret hidden in the Venturi's past, none now remained. It was whispered throughout town, from the darkest of taverns to the most eloquent parties, that yes, most certainly Mr. and Mrs. Venturi had done some awful deed, for how could such tragedy hit a good Christian family? Oh, yes, Mrs. Facet's young daughter had died last year, and yes, she was a good woman. But she wasn't so miserable as those two are! Thus went the gossip, altogether cruel and unreasonable.

To say, then, that Casey survived the days following the funeral would not be entirely true. Yes, in some ways, she was alive; that is to say, she breathed, as she had always done, and, although she ate and slept little, she nevertheless performed these mundane tasks. And yet, she did so with such passivity, with such listlessness, that it was as though she were dead herself.

"If you ask me," Mrs. James commented one day to Sam, "her soul was buried along with her baby."

It was a sad sight, to see a woman so fallen. After her shameful marriage, Casey had held two things dear: her pride, and her child. Now, however, she had lost both.

Derek too had been affected by the tragedy. He drank, just as he had before, and yet, unlike the times before, he drank, it seemed, to escape his own reality. He was a sullen man in the weeks following Charlotte's death; his jovial façade had given way to a more morose one, although even that was difficult to tell, for indeed, he did not reveal his feelings. He had, it seemed, turned to some refuge in the depths of his mind, and what he felt was something that nobody could quite figure out.

It is said that the eyes give away feelings. For Casey, this was unnecessary; her feelings were clear. Her misery was tangible to anyone who cared to stand near her (although people seldom did), and her guilt was, at times, overbearing. Derek, on the other hand, was a mystery. His frozen gaze revealed nothing; it was as though he were incapable of feeling any sort of emotion. Joy, anger, pain, he lacked even the most basic of expressions. He smiled, and yet his countenance was that of a statue, forever unreadable.

Their relationship had changed, too. If they had lived, for a time, as though they were in separate homes before, then now, they lived as though they were in entirely separate worlds. It was easy enough, for she had not spoken since Charlotte's death. She had merely walked around with a vacant expression upon her swallowed face, her eyes receding into her head, her cheeks hollowing out, for she had eaten and slept little since the death.

To be certain, they were not uncivil to one another; in fact, they were, perhaps, more cordial to each other than they had ever been in their marriage. They did not mind one another, barely taking notice of each others actions. At night, when he could hear her sobbing alone, he did not move to comfort her. It became apparent that in their relationship, this unnatural formality was worse than any harsh words that they could ever say.

And so life went on. Nothing changed, nothing stopped. In short, nobody cared about the pair, save for those interested in them solely for gossip fodder. But, as time moved forward, as life continued on, people stopped taking interest in the broken family. The malicious rumors ceased, the sly glances and forced sympathy melted into utter indifference. In time, people scarcely remembered the incident.

Thus was the day to day routine for a month. Daily, Derek would awake, and leave early, trying to escape the stifling confines of his home. Sometimes, Casey would be awake as well. She would sit stiffly in her rocking chair, gazing intently at some invisible sight. She wouldn't speak, couldn't speak. Perhaps that was, in part, the reason for their cordiality: neither spoke to one another. It became commonplace to see her wandering aimlessly throughout town, cloaked in sorrow, a silent, floating figure, hardly human, it seemed. She would not answer any sort of questions pertaining to her life, or to anything, for that matter.

It was not until almost a month later that they deviated from this solemn routine, and that Derek seemed to notice his wife. One night, however, rather than retiring to his room. He arose from his bed that night, and walked to the doorway of her room, pushing it open, and standing like a silent sentinel as she cried mournfully into her daughters bedding. She eventually looked up at him, sensing his watchful gaze. Their eyes met for the briefest of moments, her heavy breathing the only sound between them. For that moment, they seemed to be together, seemed to be one person, sharing a moment only they could understand. Yet, a moment later, she looked away, and turned her back to him. A few minutes later, she heard his footsteps as he walked away.

Come morning, nothing was said in regards to the incident. Still, that night, it was repeated once again, and then the next night, again. This continued on for a fortnight. He would watch her for a few minutes, sometimes longer, sometimes less, and then he would leave as inconspicuously as he had come. Sometimes, she would look at him. Often, she did not. His presence did not cause her discomfort, however. To say that it was a comfort, that it offered her support, would not be entirely accurate either. In truth, neither understood the meaning of the ritual. Derek did not know why he watched her every night, and could offer no possible explanation, just as she could offer no explanation as to how she felt about it. They knew only that they relied on this, whatever it was, to help them.

Things changed, quite suddenly, a fortnight after Derek's nightly visits began. He awoke one morning to find his wife modestly attired to go out, waiting for him.

"I am going to church," she said suddenly, her voice raspy, for she had not spoken in a month and a half. For a brief moment, he lost his aloof façade, looking at her in astonishment. Ever the master, however, he quickly regained his composure.

"Why should I care?"

"I thought perhaps we ought to go together. It has been some time since either of us has worshipped, and I'm sure you can get away from work to do so," she answered softly.

"Why would I do something like that?"

"Well, God…"

"What do I care about God? He and I parted ways long ago, and I suggest that you give consideration to the idea that he has abandoned you as well, as I believe he has."

"I do not wish to argue, my husband. I thought only to tell you where I was going, for I thought…well, never mind my thoughts; they are of no interest to you," she replied quietly, her voice bereft of any mockery or anger that should have laced such a statement. Derek silently appraised her.

"You have changed," he said at length.

"Yes, I believe I have," she agreed. She did not wait for him to say anything else, for she knew him well enough to know that all that could be said had been said.

**0o0o0o0o0**

The whispers arose from their stagnant state when Mrs. Venturi took a seat in church that day. Conjecture as to what she could possibly want (for many agreed, however unknowingly, with her husband), and then, when she showed no signs of leaving, what God could possibly do for her. Yet, as always, she noticed nothing of this, locked, as she was, inside herself.

"My God," exclaimed Sam Jenkins as he entered, "it is Mrs. Venturi!"

His companion, Mrs. James, put a hand on his arm as he moved to approach her. "I don't think it would be wise to be seen in her company," she advised.

"You can't possibly think that she is cursed, as they say. No, not you. I simply can't believe that you would think such a low and common thing."

"Mind your tongue, you zany fool" she admonished. "Defending her still makes ye no smarter than any of those people. We are all of the same sort, and had she remembered that, perhaps she would not have such a nervous nature."

"How can I simply ignore her? Her husband…"

"Have I not told ye before that her relationship with her husband is her own, and that it is not our place to speculate in regards to it?"

"All the same, it's still the right thing to speak to her, I believe. She needs somebody, for certainly, that foolish husband of hers offers no help."

"Do as you wish, then. I only warn you to be careful; she is fragile still, and I don't think her the same as she was before," advised the older woman. Still, she took her own seat, allowing Sam to do as he wished.

Several sets of eyes followed him with curiosity as he approached the grieving woman.

"Mrs. Venturi, it has been some time since I last saw you," he greeted. She raised her dull eyes in recognition.

"Mr. Jenkins," she acknowledged, "how nice it is to see you again. As I recall, the last time we met was… under dark circumstances."

"Yes, it was," he admitted. "How are you now?"

"I am faring quite well, thank you," she answered with distant formality.

"May I offer you a seat next to me?"

"Oh, no, I don't believe that would be right," she quickly said. "I should very much prefer to sit here alone, if you don't mind. Besides, I am hoping that my husband will show up here soon enough."

Her face held such innocence, such distance, even, that it was impossible, or, at the very least, nearly so, to tell that she was lying. Still, knowing her husband as he did, Sam knew quite well that her wait, if, indeed, she truly meant to wait for him, would be in vain. Derek was not a religious man; he had, in fact, made his distaste for religion quite clear in the time since he had arrived, his mockeries of it becoming a trademark of sorts for him.

"Well, then, I suppose I ought to take my seat."

"Yes, I think that would be an excellent idea, Mr. Jenkins," she replied.

"Good day, then, Mrs. Venturi. Perhaps I may have reason to hope that I'll see you around soon."

"Good day, Mr. Jenkins."

It was not until a week later that she spoke to him again.

**0o0o0o0o0**

That night, Derek did not visit her as he had been doing for the past few weeks. To say that he knew it would be a futile effort, that he knew he would find it empty, at least initially, through some uncanny prediction was not entirely untrue. Indeed, something had changed, and, although he knew not what it was, he knew well enough that the precarious life that they had been living since Charlotte's death, stuck, as they had been, on some vague line, knowing that one motion would shatter their silence, was over.

Outside his bedroom, he could hear her, pacing back and forth, the flicker of her candle streaming in through the cracks in his door. She was muttering something, a prayer, he thought, but she did not enter. Eventually, she left. This continued for another night or two, and then, she stopped pacing, stopped praying, one night, and, with hesitancy, reached to open the door.

The candle shook, the flames flickering unsteadily, undulating with the movement of her hands. She walked softly with uncertain movement, pausing frequently, trying to catch her shuddering breath.

"Derek," she called nervously.

"What is it that you want?" he said in reply, his voice, as was usual, holding no pretense. He was confused, and somewhat disturbed, by her sudden presence.

"I…I've been thinking, a lot, lately, about us…our…marriage, and Ch…the girl," she stumbled, unable to say her daughters name aloud.

"Yes, yes, what of it?"

"I…our marriage vows, I…I haven't fulfilled them very well," she said at length, "I've not been a true and good wife to you. I belong to only you, and yet, I have not become your true wife, not under the eyes of God, nor of the law."

"Casey, what is this nonsense of yours? Stop your babble, and say what you wish to say," he demanded, unnerved by her words. She now stood by his bed, and he could see that she was trembling violently, her face whiter than he had ever seen it, her eyes sunken in with lack of sleep and excess of worry.

"I…I think that maybe, what we have gone through, our loss, is punishment. I have been a terrible wife to you; I have been willful, disobedient, and oh! how I wish I wasn't so awful. I have been punished, you see, and now I know the way, and I can be good now, I can." Her eyes shone now with feverish madness, pleading with him, looking for some way to atone for the impossible.

Slowly, now, and with no small amount of tears, she started to take off her dressing robe, moving to enter his bed. Derek shook his head, abruptly sitting up, and moving out of the bed.

"No," he said. She stopped, and looked at him, perplexed.

"What are you doing? Please, don't do this, allow me my penance!" she beseeched. "You loved me once in sin, so why will you not have me now, when it is a sin not to have me?"

"When I loved you before, I did not force you. I have done many things to you, things that I am not proud of. Yet, I have never forced myself upon you. To take you now would be as good as rape, for your religious madness has rendered you unable to act upon your own will."

"Derek, no, you must…"

"You wish to be a good wife? Then leave, leave my room immediately. I forbid you to enter this room unless I wish it. Am I to be understood, my _dear_ wife," he sneered.

"Derek…"

"Leave! Leave me now, leave with your religion and your guilt. I do not wish to see you again," Derek shouted, his face dark with anger. Wordlessly, she nodded, and with a low cry, she swiftly ran out of the room.

Her sobs haunted him throughout the night.

**0o0o0o0o0**

From the time he daughter had died, Derek had been exceptionally sullen, if not all together unreachable. However, just as Casey had suddenly changed, so did Derek. That night, following Casey's sudden desire to be a true wife, Derek had renewed his interest in boisterous taverns.

Sam found him, therefore, immerged amongst the noise and sin, just as he had done in the early days of his marriage.

"Derek, why are you here?" he asked, reluctantly taking a seat next to Derek. "I have seen your wife entering church daily, as of late, and yet you have been markedly absent. Should you not try to be with you wife, considering all that she has been through?" With a scoff, Sam added, "and maybe, religion could do you some good."

"Religion, do me some good? I suppose you mean to say, do me some good, just as it has done Casey. Ha! Have you seen what your precious God-your precious _religion_-has done? No, of course not; how could you know? Tell me, Sam, do you believe that Casey was always as she is now? Do you believe that she was always so nervous, so defeated? You never knew her as I did, never saw her laugh as I once did. No, you only have seen the product of society and its expectations, a product of your religious teachings," he spat.

"Perhaps, Derek, you ought to take some responsibility for what has happened to her. Her child is dead; do you not care at all?"

"She was my daughter too!"

Sam was taken aback momentarily by the ferocity in Derek's voice. They glared at one another for a moment, until Derek spoke again, his anger evident even as he tried to subdue it. "Yes, I know that I am, in part, responsible for making her as she is. Yet, even after we married, after she had stopped smiling, given up all her happiness, she was alive. Now that she has decided to turn herself over to God, now that she has given herself up to religion, I cannot say even that for her. You don't know-can't know-what such beliefs have done to her. She is not the woman I married, not the woman whom I once loved (if, in fact, we are to assume that I did once love her). I hate what she has become."

Sam laughed bitterly. "You are far too adept at placing your guilt on others, Mr. Venturi. I've no doubt that you are guilty; I suppose that makes up for something. Still, I cannot think that you are possibly denying the existence of God. How can you think such a thing?"

"No, not at all. I believe it him. But, if God exists, then Satan too must be present. And if God has his chosen, then likewise, so must Satan. Casey and I are chosen, to be certain, but we are the chosen of the latter. What we have done warrants nothing less. But, yes, I forget that you know nothing of the crimes of which I speak of. That is none of your concern, at any rate. Casey and I are not fit for redemption, and the death of our child certainly is proof of this. That is all that you need to know," Derek bit back bitterly.

That Casey, a girl who seemed far too good for anything earthly, could be thought of on the same level as the intoxicated man before him seemed utterly blasphemous to Sam. "Do not speak of her like that," he growled. Derek laughed again.

"I forget, then, that you seem to love her as well. Foolish, you are. But, ah, that is not my concern. Don't look at me like that; you know nothing of our relationship. You do not know her as I do, nor could you. And I think that I am glad that you don't." Derek's face turned uncommonly serious. "Yes, I am glad. She needs somebody to believe in her, to believe that she is something other than what she is. She must have that, especially now. How can I begrudge her that?"

**0o0o0o0o0**

**A/N: I cannot promise a speedy update; it may take a couple of weeks. I am sorry, but there is nothing I can do. However, I still hope you liked this. If, by chance, anyone feels the need to debate/discuss anything said in this chapter, feel free to review, message me, or email me. I am always happy to hear from you all about this sort of thing.**

**Review!**

**Emily**


	15. Interlude: A Special Note and Surprise

_I once swore that I would never write a separate Authors note, as a separate chapter_

_I once swore that I would never write a separate Authors note, as a separate chapter. However, circumstances have arisen that renders this necessary._

_First, I would like to make it clear that **I am NOT discontinuing the story**. I have worked far to long on this, and we are very, very close to the end (as in, under four chapters left, and probably only 2 or 3). However, the story will once again take a break, as I will be unable to update for some time. I don't know how long it will be; I'm really hoping I can update within a month, but I can't promise anything. I am leaving for college tomorrow, and honestly, I'm not certain how much free time I'll have to update this._

_I honestly planned to have another chapter out by today. Unfortunately, my horse had colic surgery over the weekend, so understandably, I've spent a good deal of time at the vet (he's doing fine, for the record). I've also been busy with packing, and now, with getting the house ready for Fay, as I am a Floridian. Overall, this leaves me with little free time in which I can write._

_I apologize for this, and I hope that you all with continue to read once I have a new chapter up. However, to make up for this, I will include in this post a few scenes that did not fit into the original story. All of these would have taken place already, as I won't post spoilers. They are unedited in many ways, written very quickly. Still, I give them to you in the hopes that you may enjoy it._

_0o0o0o0_

**The following would have taken place after a fight that Casey and Derek would have had, right after Charlotte's birth:**

She lowered her eyes, bowing her head in meek submission.

"Well, why are you surprised at my words?" he questioned, perceiving the fear and surprise in her countenance.

Why indeed, she wondered. As of late, she supposed, her husband had been far too quiet-disconcertingly so, if she were to be honest in thought. The peace that she had found herself giving into, the calm and contentedness, had been perilously created, and with a single cruel utterance, he had effectively roused her from her delusions. Still, she could not allow him to so easily destroy her illusions.

"I thought that perhaps you might have…oh, no, forget that I have spoken," she whispered, her face flushed with embarrassment.

For a transitory moment, his expression appeared to soften, seeming, in that second, not to be his, but rather, the face of some kinder, gentler man. It hardened quickly, however, and she wondered if she had merely imagined this change.

From the corner, the baby let out a wail. Hurriedly, she moved towards she crib, reaching in to cradle the screaming infant in her arms. Derek continued to stare blankly at her, his face as enigmatic as always.

**0o0o0o0**

**I inserted the next passage into the original version of the story, in chapter one, when Casey and Derek are about to leave on the train. I did not think of this until later, and, besides that, it would have radically altered Nora's character. However, I will give you it regardless. Enjoy!**

"You must remember one thing," she told her daughter softly. "Your appearance is everything. Your life is not to be one of happiness, for your marriage prevents it from being such. Still, you must not allow others to see this. A young woman may be vapid and unhappy within the confines of her own home, yet be known as the merriest and wittiest beauty in the town society. You must be that woman, my dear. Let them not see your unhappiness, but let them see your indifference. Let yourself be known as the clever beauty. Do not allow unhappiness to pale your cheeks, and sallow your skin."

**There will be more deleted scenes, possibly, when the story has ended. There is once scene in particular, for a part that has not yet been posted (but will in the next chapter) that I had to take out, because the story took a certain turn, that I really love. I might just give you that (and then some). **

**Again, I'm sorry for the wait for the next chapter. Thank you for all of your support. **


	16. Chapter Twelve

**A/N: I have previously apologized in advance for the long wait. Sadly, school takes priority to writing. That said, I must admit to have had a great deal of fun writing this chapter, for reasons which I think will become obvious. A lot happens, that much I'll say. We are nearly done with the story, and so things are moving a bit faster than I would have liked. Still, I hope that you will enjoy this chapter. And really, if I don't get reviews after this, I should be highly disappointed. Again, you'll see why. So, please, read, review, flame, whatever. I just like hearing from you. **

**  
Emily**

**Disclaimer: I own only a few characters here and there; all other characters are the property of someone else. **

* * *

It was inevitable that it should happen. Indeed, the signs were such that even she, in her forced mental isolation, was, in some ways, aware of the impending conversation. Nevertheless, the when took her, and him, by surprise. Certainly, it was not a conversation that she could have been prepared for, nor was it a conversation that he could prepare for himself. It was as impulsive as it was necessary, for such had to happen, for both their sakes.

Sam Jenkins found Casey on a certain night in April, leaving church, for such was where she often was to be found. Having escorted her home (for such was his duty as a chaste gentleman), they found her husband to be out.

"Is he out often?" Sam asked, although he knew the answer well.

"Yes, I suppose so. I don't mind him much, not now," replied she, her manner unaffected by her absentee husband.

"You must often be lonely, then."

"I've much to busy myself with. Praying, sewing, gardening, such things occupy so much of my time. Seldom do I miss company."

It was true enough; since her rejection by her husband, she had feverously devoted herself to trivial matters, in hopes of finding something worthy of her time. Having found no object that busied her mind for long, she took up many other things. Seldom did she find herself without activity, and in those rare instances, she was quick to find some other thought to ruminate upon, just as long as the thought had nothing to do with her own personal ills, or, for that matter, her life at all.

"You oughtn't to feel that way," he said softly. "You deserve far more than that."

"Please, do not flatter me, Mr. Jenkins. Your kind words are far too much for me," she said softly, her face coloring.

It was, perhaps, her modest insistence on this fact that caused him to act as he did. For so long, he had watched her suffer, watched her go from a confident, albeit somewhat insufferable, woman to this timid creature, a shell of what he perceived her to have once been. Of course, he was correct in this assumption; she was, indeed, a mere shadow of her former self, and yet the cause of this was far more than he could ever begin to understand.

Whatever the reason may have been mattered not. What mattered were the words that he spoke.

"If you are so miserable, and no, please, you mustn't deny that you are unhappy, then let us leave this place together, and go to where we may find happiness," he declared, his words imbued with such pleading honesty as to be almost heartbreaking.

"Mr. Jenkins, please, I don't quite understand what you are saying," she said wearily, trying desperately to find some other meaning in his words. "Please, for propriety's sake…"

"Propriety be jowned! I believe that ye know what I mean," he replied. He felt his confidence waning, however, as he looked at her. Regardless of this, he ventured on. "I love you, Casey, and I have done so for a very long time."

"Please, for both our sakes, do not speak like that. Do not entertain such thoughts," she pleaded.

"Why? Why can't you? We will leave the country, move somewhere where nobody knows us, where we can live together as man and wife, as we should. Can you tell me that you believe he would follow us, that he would come after us?"

"No, no, I don't believe he would. He would let me leave, and he would move on, just as I would, I should think. But still, I cannot go with you."

"Is it your reputation you fear? You would get a new one, a better one, surely," he insisted.

She laughed bitterly. "No, it is not my reputation, not anymore. I have forgotten what it is like to care about such a thing now, after all that has happened. I cannot go with you for reasons that I can't understand myself. I know I ought to, and oh, how I wish I could! But no, no, it is impossible that I should leave here. You see, it is my curse to remain, to suffer. I have no choice now. Your offer changes nothing, not for me, anymore. You have made me an offer that I should readily accept, and still, something, though I know not what, keeps me here, retains me. How I yearn to be free! How I want to love you, as you love me. How simple it would be, I should think, to believe that I did love you in such a way.

"I dislike him, I care not for him, and yet, he is everything to me now. He is my jailor, my guard, my demon. And I cannot leave him. Perhaps, this is my curse. Perhaps I am cursed with the knowledge of what I should do, without having the ability to do it. Oh, but if it had come to this sooner, perhaps then…"

"You mustn't speak like that, Casey! How can I allow you to talk of such things?"

She was silent for a moment. A small smile played upon her lips, and she looked back at him. "You did not know me as a girl, Mr. Jenkins, did you? I was eighteen when I married, as you well know. Before my marriage, I like to believe that you would rather have liked me. Perhaps had we met then, the story here would be a far happier one. It was back when I still had hopes and dreams for my life, still believed in many a thing. I was quite pretty, back then, too. Had I wished, I suppose I could have taken my pick of suitors. Ah, but how quickly such things pass, how quickly they fade."

"Oh, how ye must have suffered to become so cynical in your life. How I wish that I had known you, or, even, that I might still have hope to see you restored to your former glory."

"Stop! Oh, God, please stop your kindness, your hopeful words. Do you not see that I am nothing now?" she cried. Looking at her, he realized that seldom as he seen her in so much pain. Her delicate features were distorted in pathetic agony, her features more fragile than he remembered them being only a short time ago.

She was now at the point in which one suffers from the realization that their previous actions have led them down a certain path, of which it is impossible to disembark. Hearing Sam speak of a trail that, had she been wiser in her youth, she could have taken shook her greatly. She was so unaccustomed to kind words, having lived without them for so long, that she was unsure of how one was to react to the situation. Certainly, she contemplated, one is to feel happiness, rather than this heavy sorrow. Yet such an emotion she could not honestly feel, although she couldn't comprehend why this was.

"Do you ask me to go," Sam asked at length. She was silent. Taking this as an affirmative, he replied, "then let me leave ye in peace. I will take leave of Dorchester as soon as I can."

"But how shall you find work?"

"I'll take up life as a journeyman. I've the skills to do so, and there is a living t' be found in such work," he told her.

"The yes, it is for the best that you leave, I think," she agreed.

"Please, remember that ye needn't suffer, Mrs. Venturi. You may yet change your mind."

"I wish I could, sir, I truly do. However, such a thing will not happen, and so, please, do as you said and leave me. I thank you for your time, and for your attention, however misguided it may be. May you love a girl who is worth your love, Mr. Jenkins. Of this I truly pray."

Upon taking leave of Mrs. Venturi, Sam wandered quite without goal or purpose, walking for the sake of walking, and trying not to ruminate upon the events that had so recently passed. Stupid, his mind cried, to have done such a thing. To have allowed the consideration to even take root in his mind, let alone voicing the treacherous words out loud. Perhaps he should have forced her, should have tried harder. Yet, he knew that he could not have done so, for he had caused her grief, he saw now. It was, in fact, the sudden knowledge that his words had grieved her so, that he had given her even more pain than usual that caused him to leave her without another plea.

He found, at last, that he had walked to Mrs. James' home, a place that he naturally felt a kinship for. She was outside, it so happened, and upon observing his blank expression, realized that something between the young man and the woman with whom he was infatuated had occurred.

"What has happened?" she questioned. He sighed.

"I asked her to leave with me," he replied after some time.

"What were ye thinking? What madness possessed you, to induce you to do such a thing!"

"Let me be, Mrs. James. I've nothing to say for my actions, nor have I any wish to think back to my motives. I have done only what I must, for I daresay that I have done that which I have always wished."

"She didn't agree t' leave wi' ye?" ventured the older woman.

"No, although I can't understand why." He sighed. "I haven't the smallest notion of why not, I must admit. Is it so vain to believe myself more worthy of affection than Mr. Venturi?"

"I'll not go commenting up the state of affairs in their family," she answered.

"'Tis just as well, then, that I leave."

"Leave?"

"Yes, I imagine that I ought t' leave. I'd not like to be around should her husband ever find out what I did." In truth, his wanting to leave had little to do with her husband. He knew that in the unlikely occasion that she should tell her husband of their exchange, he would find it amusing, would tease her and abuse her good sense. No, it was the memory of her haunted countenance, the knowledge that he would always have to see her looking at him with her blank stare. Such was more than he could handle.

Mrs. James nodded. "That is for the best, I imagine. 'Twould be an awful thing, to remain entranced wi' a married woman as you are." They spoke for a bit longer, saying their goodbyes. As Sam had promised, he had left by weeks' end.

**0o0o0o0o0**

Casey did not mention Sam's preposition to her husband until some months after. Derek, consumed as he was in his own mind, took little notice of Sam's departure.

Life for the Venturi's had continued, for a time, without incident. Casey was quieter, more subdued and accepting of her life, it seemed. Her husband grew more open about his fickle life style, however. He came home far later than he had once, and often came back with the pungent smell of alcohol upon his breath. Still, Casey did not take notice, or, perhaps, it was that she didn't care. Regardless of any individual change, their relationship was altered not; it remained such that it was as though they lived in two separate and distant homes.

In early July, a furious storm blew through Dorchester, leaving, in its wake, far more destruction than could have been anticipated. Several cottages were crushed by fallen trees, and farmers reported a loss of livestock, drowned by the waters in the valley.

The destruction had not been large at the Venturi home; at least, so was the appearance.

The night of the storm brought down mighty winds and bright flashes of light. The lightning struck the ground continuously, almost in tandem with the shattering crash of the thunder. It was a particularly bright flash, and a rather loud grumble, that finally brought Casey outdoors, to assess the storm for herself. She gasped; her garden, which she had planted a fair distance from the home, was no longer visible, for it was surrounded by a fiery ring. She raced closer, trying futilely to douse the flames with rain water that had accumulated in a can.

"No!" she cried, but her pleas were lost in the howls of the winds. As she watched helplessly, she perceived a figure on the other side of the flames. There he stood, as he had stood once in a dream that seemed to have happened so long ago; her husband, Derek, looking at her, his face hidden by the shadows, parts of it illuminated only briefly by the wild flames. His expression was that of indifference, of utter nothingness.

She screamed. It was a piecing sound, one not of anguish, not of pain, but of pure rage. Her face, twisted as it was, appeared to be that of a mad woman, and Derek took notice of this. As she ran back to the house, he smiled ever so slightly. In her eyes, he could see that she was losing the tentative grasp on her anger.

"Come, love, allow me to know you."

What had come over her, she could not say. So long has she been silent, suffering in her own manner, independent from the rest of the world. Now, watching all she had go up in flames, watching the last of her world that she knew die, something broke within her. In that moment, she found that she hated her husband far more than she could have ever conceived. Every wrong that he had done, every hurt that he had caused, she now remembered, the memories rushing through her mind, wave after wave. A fire she thought had long since flickered out now rekindled. In her breast, she felt the familiar exhilaration that she had once gotten when speaking her mind, when allowing herself the freedom to do what she would, regardless of consequences.

"You want to know my feelings? You dare ask me that, sir? I hate you, I despise you. And I used to hate myself for those feelings, for you were my husband, and was I not supposed to love my husband? But now, now I am not ashamed to hate you. I wish, and may God forgive me, but I wish for your death. I await it, I pray for it.

"Of course I wish for death. I used to fear it, some time ago. When I was ill, all that time ago, I would fear the end. I don't know why; I suppose I thought I had something to live for, something awaiting me. Now what have I to live for? My child is dead, I live with a man whom I despise, what can I do? I hope for my death, I await it. I suppose I am punishing myself." She paused, laughing bitterly, hardly perceiving that Derek's attention was wholly on her.

"If you hate me so, why don't you leave?"

"It's strange, I think. Sam asked me to go away with him. Oh, yes, you didn't know about that! It was a month or two ago, I believe. He asked me to leave with him, and I said no. I can't imagine why I said so; I've nothing here, and at this point, I could care less for my reputation; as it is, my reputation is already shattered. So why would I refuse a man who could and would love me fully?"

"So that is why he left," Derek mused. "Poor lad; I rather liked him."

"Hear me!" she screamed. "Hear my words, see my face. Look upon the image of hell, the image of a woman empty inside. Gaze at this broken body, let yourself see me as I am, for you alone, sir, can do so. Look at what you have done to me!" she cried.

"What I see? Do you ask me what I see? I see now the image, however faint, of a girl that I once knew. A pleasing change from the skeleton that I normally must face, I will admit. I had thought you once beyond repair, retaining not a bit of your old passion. What I have done to you, at this moment, madam, I take great pride in. I have enraged you; I have brought color to your cheeks, a shine to your eyes. I have brought back the girl that I wed, the girl that disappeared with all hope. What happened to her, Casey, the woman that would have never allowed me to act as I do now, at least not without a fight? I am curious, I must admit," he answered, his voice infuriatingly calm. Indeed, he was much pleased with the sudden change in his wife. He had not seen this side of her in some time, and he remembered why he had once cared for her.

"I have changed, Derek! I was a girl back then, too young to understand propriety. I was just a girl when we wed, and I grew quickly. We have changed, Derek, you and I; we have changed."

"I, I changed?" he echoed indignantly. "Consider, Casey, have I ever acted in a manner inconsistent with how you think of me? Have I ever surprised you in my actions, or in my personality? No, indeed, I have changed little over the years. I am the same as the boy you once loved well enough, and loved me, in some way, I know you once did. You, however, are not the girl that I once cared for."

"Do you suggest that you once might have cared for me?" she exclaimed. "Do you dare say that to me, dare imply it? You are a selfish man, who hasn't any idea of how to feel. Do you suppose you might begin to think of how I feel? Do you jest when you talk like that?"

"I am selfish? Yes, well, perhaps I am. However, you are no selfless martyr. How many times, when we were young, and yes, even after our marriage, did I see you spite others for your own purposes?"

"Oh yes, Derek, such a good person," she sneered. "You do what everyone else does, but you don't hide it, so you are better…"

"I never said that I was a better person!"

"But you did! You too are a hypocrite, sir, for you claim that you are better than I, for you can allow yourself the knowledge of what you truly are, and you show yourself as you truly are, and for that, you are better than me. But you then claim that you are no better. Answer me that: how may you be both? I cannot see it."

"You cannot see anything! You have closed your eyes to all around you, Casey; shut yourself up in your own world. You see nothing, know nothing except that which you delude yourself into thinking," he accused.

"Well, what would you have me do? I have lost everything. I have not my freedom, nor my intelligence, nor my child. Would you have me live in the world as it is? I cannot bear to do so!"

"What would I have you do? I would have you fight, damn it, against everything. Fight as you do now!" In his breast, he could feel a familiar anger, mixed with an odd elation, consuming his hold on his temper. It was a loss of faculties, a loss of all his senses, except that which pertained to her. Passion had consumed both Casey and Derek; they had, after all these years, reverted back to the lost dynamic of their youth. It was the nature of their relationship to inherently contain this passion; it was what had, so long before, caused in them such an unlikely union.

"I fight now," she breathed. "I fight now, and do you care for me anymore that you have?"

"Yes." In the word, there was the promise of something long hidden, some remnant of respect, of caring that each had felt. Within a few steps, he had swept her into an embrace, and she willingly clung to him, for now, in the midst of this argument, again they connected. Such was their relationship; neither mutual like nor respect was grounds for the pair. It was this angry rapport, established long ago. They had found one another in the furious rapport of argument one long before, and they found one another now once again.

Indeed, in a few months time, there would no longer be cause for speculation as to whether or not their marriage could be called void, for Casey Venturi once again carried within her proof that their union was, indeed, a marriage in all ways.

* * *

**A/N: I meant, originally, to have Lizzie, Edwin, and Peter in this chapter. However, Casey and Derek took control, and I had no choice but to let them loose. Next chapter, however, will be mostly (if not all) Lizzie, Edwin, and Peter. There will be about three or four more chapters, and then an epilogue and that will be it. So, leave a review, then, before it's too late.**

**Emily**


	17. Interlude: Another Surprise

**A/N: So, I promised some of you that if I found that I was unable to update for some time, I would publish another group of deleted scenes. I had thought that I might update in the next few weeks, after midterms, but, as I have recently found out that my horse will be joining me at school for a while, I will again have little time for writing. Add to this a bout of writers block, and you've got no good update (and of course, I only give the best). So, to appease all of you, I give you a much larger selection of deleted scenes, as written into my actual notes (which I did not have available the last time I gave you such deleted scenes). All of these were written early in the stories creation, for various parts throughout. In many, I simply abandoned the idea to go a different direction, as you will see. I hope that you enjoy this, regardless, and I promise that I will try to update as soon as I can.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. **

* * *

**The following scene was an early write up of chapter 2, in which I endeavored to create a stronger character in George. It wound up not fitting well with what I wanted. Still, it gives another perspective into their lives prior to marriage, I think. Enjoy!**

The family, being of the middle class, did not have the wealth necessary to provide for a family of five children. They lived their lives so as not to squander away their money, but to be able to live out of the shadow of fear cast by poverty. The father, George Venturi, made his life as a teacher at the large village school, and his wife taught beside him.

There was also the matter of social acceptance; despite the marriage ceremony, it was generally agreed that the nature of their situation was such that great embarrassment would surround the family were they to stay. So, they now found themselves sitting across from one another in a rickety cart, their few belongings found in the back.

The course that their lives would take was, in a way, rather ironic. Casey had always wished to be educated at the Salisbury Training College, where she wished to earn the right to teach. She had wished to make her life more than it could ever be. Derek, however, had been content with his prospect; that is to say, he knew that his chosen occupation would be of little skill, and would give him little money. What he earned would have been spent in the tavern on liquor and whores. Now, Casey had nothing but an unhappy marriage, and Derek would have to spend his earnings on his family. Her prospects had been severely limited, while he would be forced to better himself.

"You wished, Casey, to make something of yourself. Is that the reason that you despise this so much? Did you believe that you could have been anything more than this, that you could possibly have become a learned female?"

"Your Father could not achieve such things, but perhaps I could have."

"My Father worked hard, Casey. They all do. He wished to go to Oxford, and yet he too was hindered by his standing. We must accept our lives for what they are. We are the dust, the scrapings of the street. We are nothings, and we can never be anything more. Our children, their children, it will always be like this. You cannot change it. No one can."

"You may not have the ability, but I do…"

"You are a woman! Did you think that you could manage a marriage of great advantage to you? Did you truly believe that any man of standing would marry a peasant girl?"

* * *

**The following was to be written before Charlotte's death. It simply didn't fit into the chapter. It offers a bit of clarity on the situation of the Venturi's prior to Charlotte's death. **

In Dorchester, the summer after Charlotte's second birthday had been a difficult one for the Venturi family. Derek, as was usual, had not seen fit to spend much of his time with his wife and child, and, rather, preferred the bar. It had been Casey's rather futile hope that he would embrace their young daughter as he had embraced Marti. Certainly, he loved the girl, or, at the very least, cared for her a good deal more than he did for her mother (or so it seemed), and yet he remained forever in a state of agitation.

It was a general belief that he was more volatile than usual, due to a lack of work to be found. It seemed that he often had to travel further and further away to find something to occupy his time, and while he was away, there was very little for his family to live on. Casey was forced to take up sewing odds and ends for the neighbors. She had taken to this with her usual feigned confidence, trying somewhat futilely to never allow those around her to see her shame.

To add to their troubles, Charlotte remained a small and sickly child. She appeared to take after her mother in these ways, for like her mother, her face held a sickly pallor, her frame slight, and her complaints many.

* * *

**The next scene would have taken place shortly after Charlotte's birth. The character of Derek is a bit altered, and it didn't wind up fitting in with what I had. It involves Casey and Derek discussing Sam: **

"You dare allow him to enter my home without my permission!"

"You do not have the right to say who may call on us, nor when they may do so."

"Oh, I don't believe it was an accident that I was not home. Perhaps he planned it. Did you plan it, Casey? Did you want him alone, so he could take you on your bed? Did you beg for his company, like a common whore? Did you…"

"How dare you make such accusations! You have no right to say what I may do. You do not own me, nor may you have any such ideas."

At these words, Derek pulled close to him. "You forget that you are my wife. I shall not allow for you to ruin our reputation in this town with your womanly fancies. You do belong to me, Casey. I will not allow for another man to have what is rightfully mine."

"Yet you allow yourself to mix with the whores and the beggars. You are not faithful to me, and you expect me to keep up the appearance? You may not own me, nor hold such delusions. In fact, had I less knowledge of your character, I would think you to be jealous."

"Perhaps I am. Perhaps I am angry that another man is trying to take what is mine. He tries to take you on your bed, when I have not had the chance. Perhaps we shall rectify this." With this said, Derek pulled her against his chest, covering her mouth with his own. She struggled against the strong grip, drawing away when he finally let her go.

"How dare you!"

He smirked, eyes moving over her. "You best remember that I do not share, Casey. I may not have the strength to keep myself next time."

**I don't know exactly where I planned to put in the next scene. I rather like it, but it would have made the last scene in the last chapter less true, and I really liked on big fight, rather than a few small ones scattered throughout, as I had originally planned: **

"Damn you! Damn you to hell, Derek. I'll not allow you to speak of me like this," she cried.

"I'd like to see you try to make me do otherwise," he replied, his countenance marred by the formation of a cruel and knowing smirk.

"I'll leave. I swear it. I will leave this home, and I will take Charlotte with me. I will not allow you to abuse me like this." Her voice, usually so soft and kind, now was passionate, biting in it's sound.

"You'll leave me, will you? And then what, my love? What shall you do? You have no money, no status, nothing. And I can tell you that I will not be so willing to grant you a divorce. Or, perhaps I might. After all, all that is yours is mine. You leave, and I will keep the girl."

"You bastard! You don't love her! Why must you keep us chained here? You can hardly stand us both," Casey exclaimed.

Derek let out a mirthless laugh. "What I cannot stand more than you is the thought of your happiness, your, dare I say, freedom. Why shouldn't I keep myself entertained by your misery?"

"I'd rather die than allow you that pleasure."

"Such fighting words! Why, you've not acted like this in some time, my dear."

**The next scene I really like, and I really regret that it didn't wind up fitting in with what I wanted. Sadly, there was just no way to keep it and still have the last chapter work as it did. So, I gave it up in order for things to happen as I though they should have. Still, I wish very much that I could have had this written in. ****I hope you enjoy it. It is another view of Casey and Sam's final words to one another: **

"Then, let us run away," she said impulsively, looking up at him with innocent eyes.

"Casey," he replied softly, taking her hands in his own.

"Yes, let us leave! We may leave our lives here, and travel to another place! Perhaps Canada, or elsewhere. It matters not; let us just leave, together."

"It cannot be so."

She looked at him, perplexed. "You have told me that you love me."

"I love you, Casey, I love you very well. But, I cannot have you. You do not care for me as I do you."

"Oh, but I do care for you! I will learn to love you, in time. I know it can be so. Your love for me surely will win me over. Derek cannot bring me happiness, for he doesn't love me so well. You can," she pleaded.

"I can love from afar, but I fear you do not understand that my love for you will never be what you envision it. I am like your husband, though I perhaps fight it, while he does not. I can love, but not as I should. I am not strong enough to love you completely, and to stay true to you."

"But you love me. That is more than Derek feels. Certainly, that changes everything!"

"Perhaps it might have. But, alas, it cannot be. I will never love you so honestly as he can. And, you may never learn to love me either."

"Derek does not love me," she said softly. She did not dare argue with his other assertions; she felt no love for the man who stood before her. However, she had long ago ceased to believe that love could truly exist, or, if it did, that it could last, and make one happy.

"I wish I could be with you, that I could have you as my own. I have often envisioned such things, and wished for them. Still, I have thought, and I have realized that love was never for me to feel. Not love, as you want it. I will inevitably fall, and hurt you more than he ever could."

* * *

**I hope that you enjoyed this. Again, I am sorry that this is not a "real" update, but sadly, duty calls. Still, review. I am curious as to what you think of these scenes. Good? Bad? Should I have altered the plot line to keep them? I am in the process of making this an original story, so your input in the matter is really quite important. **

**Emily**


	18. Chapter Thirteen

**A/N: I am quite certain that I am the worlds worst updater. Ever. While I have a good deal of excuses for not updating (school and classes and rereading _Les Miserables_), I shan't burden you with them. I merely give you this chapter, in which Lizzie's Saga is continued. In this chapter, you will find, for the first time ever in this story…**

**Fluff.**

**Blame _Les Miserables _for it (see the scenes with Marius and Cossette). Blame reading too much 19th century literature. Whatever it is, it made me write…this. Read to the end, if you will, for I certainly did not spend a whole chapter writing happy things. That is a notion quite impossible for this story. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy the small reprieve from the heavy angst that this chapter affords. We are almost to the end-three chapters and an epilogue remain. So, leave a review, please.**

**Emily**

**Disclaimer: Only the character of Peter Hopkins belongs to me, and I should like to keep him, if I may. Miss Lydia is also mine, as is Mrs. May**

**0o0o0o0o0**

"How wonderful it is to be loved, but how much greater to love! The heart becomes heroic through passion; it rejects everything that is not pure and arms itself with nothing that is not noble and great.

If there was no one to love, the sun would cease to shine."  
-Both from _Les Miserables_, by Victor Hugo

**0o0o0o0o0**

"He's not here."

Lizzie started at the voice behind her. Sitting upon the craggy hill, in the middle of a bitter January day, she had not expected to find another person about. She had merely been hoping for one, and it was not he who had interrupted her thoughts.

"Am I missed?" she asked, ignoring the comment, not bothering to turn her head from the bleak sight before her. Some hours before, a light flurry had begun to fall; now, it blanketed the hill side, giving the hills a sepulchral air.

"Only by me," he responded, taking a seat beside her. "I am afraid, Lizzie; you've not been acting yourself for some months. Come, now, you're seventeen. Is it not time that you start spending your thoughts on more important matters?"

"What do you suppose I think of now?"

"That man-I can't recall his name-Popkins, perhaps?"

"I don't know he of which you speak," she answered. The girl, in fact, did know, for it was the thought of this man-Hopkins- that kept her at this silent vigil. She had not seen the man in almost a years' time, and, she thought, perhaps it was time that she allow herself to live once more in the real world. After all, never in their time as acquaintances had either spoken words of love, nor made any promises.

"Come back, Lizzie. You will catch your death if you stay out here any longer, and Heaven knows we can't have another death," he said.

She nodded, for she knew that what he had said was true. Only a month ago, the family had received word that Casey's child had succumbed to some illness. Lizzie had not known the girl well, but she knew her sister, and knew that such an event was bound to send the older girl spiraling into depression. With this thought in mind, she allowed Edwin to take her hand, and with one last glance of longing, followed him back to their home.

**0o0o0o0o0**

It happened in February. Lizzie was walking quickly through the streets, her head bent low as she fought against the bitter wind. She was hardly recognizable in her find gown and fur cloak, gifts from her grandmother. Her dark hair was curled in accordance with the style of the day, which, she was assured, had its origins in Paris. The occasion was a meeting with a Lady of some influence, a recent newcomer to the town. The woman had observed the young girl only a few days ago, and had perceived her mannerisms to be to her liking. It is true that to the old, the young bring a certain vigor that seems almost palpable. The old grasp on to this ray of light and excitement, as though it will shield them from the inevitable facts of old age. The Lady was such a person, wishing desperately to experience the joys of youth again, vicariously through a young companion. Just that morning, Lizzie had been invited to call upon the lady, and later, she was to attend a party thrown by the generous woman.

As to the girl, her mind was now jumbled, her cheeks burning as she remembered her morning encounter. How fumbling her hands had been, how slowly she had spoken! How foolish the woman must think her. To gain favor with the woman in hopes of securing a place in her household had recently become Lizzie's only thought. She had hoped that the lady might be pleased with her, grasping onto the woman just as the woman grasped onto the girl. In the well-to-do lady, Lizzie had seen her sole chance of escaping her home, of seeing the world. She felt now that she was doomed to live forever in this provincial life, a thought that she could not bear. She could not have known that, at the moment, the lady was laughing with an old friend, recalling "the awkward performance of that charming creature." Lizzie's performance had, quite contrary to her belief, impressed the lady. After all, what woman does not dream of her own living doll, upon which there is a blank canvas for her to create what she will of it?

Lizzie, whom, as we have said, was deep in her troubled thoughts, did not notice a familiar face watching her from some distance away. The man, a tall fellow, not yet five and twenty, had taken notice of her only a moment before, and was now awaiting the girl to look up, so that he might get a glimpse of the face cloaked beneath the heavy fur. At last, perceiving, somehow, the eyes that followed her, she raised her head. Her cheeks were rosy from the cold, standing out against the smooth translucent skin. Her full mouth formed an "o" of surprise as she caught the eye of the man. Suddenly, her countenance was alight with excitement; smiling modestly, although boldly, she held his eyes for a moment longer than was proper. Finally, she let her eyes drop, and, with a promising smile, she took off again. The man hesitated, but she then stopped and turned to him, her gaze saying, 'come, come follow me!' The man could not resist, and did, in fact, move to follow her.

The man, as it has undoubtedly been guessed, was the same man whom she had waited for on the lonely hill a month before, Peter Hopkins. It had been over a year since he had seen her last. She was always a lovely girl, even in her youth. Now, however, she was a lovely woman, for no longer could she be called a girl. Time had sharpened her features, and she had filled out with adulthood. Her youthful freckles had paled with time, and no longer stood out against the smooth canvas of her white face. She was delicate, or so it seemed from afar. Slight as she was, she was not altogether endowed with the curves that women so often flaunt with lecherous pride, a fact which served to make her as enchanting a creature as Peter had ever seen.

Only a few months earlier, Peter had visited his father, who was a well-to-do clerk in Dorchester. His father had informed his son of a particular business venture in London, which, if successful, would bring his son a considerable amount of profit and status. In return for embarking on this venture, Peter had asked his father permission to wed. He had, some time before, decided that he had to claim Miss Elizabeth MacDonald as his wife. Having procured the assent of his father, he had hastened back to Salisbury and taken up temporary lodgings until the time that he could speak to her family regarding his matrimonial intentions. In return for his permission, his father had asked only one thing: that Peter establish himself in London first, before wedding the girl. It was to be a long engagement, so to speak. If Peter did so, his father was willing to provide him with the means to marry whomever he so chose, provided, of course, that the girl would be an asset to the family. Peter, knowing that he could not keep a wife whilst in his current occupation, agreed.

It was his intention now to speak to Lizzie's family before all else, and to let them know of his decidedly honorable intentions. Still, he could not resist her smile, and so he followed her. She led him down a little traveled path, away from town. She was quick and dexterous, seeming more fairy spirit than human girl as she fluttered down the path, leading him finally to an open field atop a hill.

"Where are we?" he questioned. She laughed.

"Why, do you not recognize the field in which we met so long ago?"

He gazed about him, taking note of his surroundings. The ground was frozen, covered in a soft layer of snow and ice, freshly fallen by the looks of it. Still, he understood, and he recognized the field, not by any landmark, but rather, by a strange feeling that seemed to accompany his being there. He nodded, and they fell silent once more, gazing at one another. Then, quite suddenly, she was in his arms, wrapped in a passionate embrace.

He kissed her quickly, and then kissed her again.

They stayed locked in their embrace for some times until finally, reluctantly, he released her.

"Where have you been?" she admonished upon catching her breath. "I've been waiting for you to come back. 'He will come,' I told myself. Edwin said that you had left for good, but he doesn't know you as I do, and I knew you hadn't abandoned me without word."

"I don't believe there's anyone who knows me as you do," he murmured, holding her close one more. "Miss MacDonald, you have taken complete possession of my heart. I thought I should go mad if I did not see you once again!"

"As did I," she agreed.

"But, I have been busy. You see, I have recently been to see my Father."

"Your father?" she asked, with a note of surprise evident in her voice. Indeed, he had never before mentioned his father, or anything regarding his own life, for that matter.

"Yes, you see, there was an important thing that I needed to discuss with him."

"Was it so important that you couldn't have first come to see me?" she questioned petulantly. Laughing, he placed a kiss upon her fair brow.

"I believe so, my dear."

"Well, tell me what it was! Surely you can't keep anything from me; that would hardly seem fair, for I am quite certain that never could I hide anything from you."

"I had hoped to speak to others first regarding this matter, in the hopes that you might perhaps be more inclined to answer in the affirmative."

"Mr. Hopkins, what are you speaking of? I don't understand you."

"Marriage, Miss MacDonald, I am speaking of marriage. I was looking for permission to as for your hand," he said at length, taking her small hand in his and holding it to his lips. Slowly, she pulled back ever so slightly, and he dropped the hand, staring at her with some trepidation.

Marriage! She could hardly believe this moment to be happening. Such bliss, could it be possible? Could this be her reward for all of her patience as she was forced to try and undo her sister's sins?

Oh, but her sister! To tell about her families sordid history? Was it inevitable that he should learn of them? She was not certain that she had the strength to tell him herself, yet, had she not promised that she would withhold nothing from him? Now, trembling, she felt faint, for all the emotions she had thus experienced too a toll upon her strength. She found her knees begin to buckle as she struggled to keep from falling into a swoon. She succeeded in keeping conscious, but she found she lacked the strength to keep herself upright. Perceiving her struggle, Peter quickly grabbed a hold of her, supporting her weight. When she was steady, he quickly unfastened his coat, laying it on the frozen ground. Gently, as though laying a child to rest, he helped her onto the ground, kneeling beside her, ignoring the frigidity of the grass.

"I am sorry-it has been a long day. At Lady Lydia's…oh!" She had, in her excitement, forgotten all about her earlier engagement. She had promised to call again on the lady at dusk. Looking around her, she saw that it was nearly that time.

Ah, how quickly time does go by for young lovers!

"Have you the time?" she asked.

" 'Tis nearly five."

"Then I must be going, for I have an engagement," she responded, pushing herself off the ground. In a way, she was glad for the departure. The question of how to handle the relationship of her sister and brother-in-law was a conflict that, at the present time, she could not quite figure out.

"May I see you tomorrow?" he questioned, for, having seen her now, he was unable to imagine not seeing her everyday. At the moment, all thoughts of establishing himself in London were forgotten, replaced by images of domestic bliss.

"Yes, of course. Oh, I really must go…"

"Shall I call on you at your home?"

"No!" she exclaimed. At the look of hurt upon his face, she added, gently, "I do not wish for my brother to know quite yet. At the very least, he would insist upon accompanying m, and there are things I must discuss with you, things that you can't know, but that you must know. Tomorrow, upon this hill, at one, we may meet."

"As you wish."

"I love you, Peter, I do, and I realize that I have not answered your proposal, but I will, you know I will; I simply need time, and I must go," she called as she hurried away.

"Yes," he agreed softly. "I suppose you must."

It was not until much later that he realized that she had spoken his name, a sign that she had accepted his proposal after all.

**0o0o0o0o0**

It seemed to Lizzie that her entire existence, until this afternoon, had been but a dream; nothing seemed to matter before, everything seemed hazy, ill defined to her. Where was she going? Why? She could scarcely remember. Miss Lydia, yes, it came to her. She was invited to call. Distantly, Lizzie remembered her embarrassment earlier that morning at the lady's house. She remembered vaguely how desperately she had wished to impress Miss Lydia.

'How silly I was,' she thought. 'Surely I knew, even then, that he'd return for me! And now, as I will soon be a married lady, I certainly can't serve as a companion for a lady.' She did not know when she had decided her answer to his proposal; perhaps, she had always known that she would say yes, for it seemed now that there was never a question of doing so.

Still, she could not get the troubling question that her sister's relationship posed out of her mind. He would learn when he went to formally declare their engagement. True, Mr. Venturi was not her father, but he was nevertheless in charge of the home. But what would he do when such a secret was revealed to him? She knew many men would not bother to wed a girl with such relations, but then, surely, if Peter loved her as she did him, he would not leave her. Still, the question remained the only blemish upon her perfect happiness.

Miss Lydia observed the change in the girl, whispering, "what a strange chance has come about in only a single afternoon!"

"You would be wise to take care, for a girl with such unsteady emotions will surely be only a burden," Mrs. May, her companion, replied. "Why, she acts as though she were struck by love!"

"Well, when I take her on as a companion, she will have no time for the amorous attention of young men. Perhaps, if she proves pleasing, I shall introduce her to my younger brother. He is a rather good man, and it is about time that he took a wife. It shouldn't be hard to convince him, for she is a lovely girl, if I am to judge by the attention the men are paying her tonight." Indeed, Lizzie had received her fair share of attention by all who were present.

"Yes, your brother would be a good match for any woman. He is young still, am I right?"

"Yes, he is not yet thirty, not too old for her." Noticing that Lizzie had moved to approach her, Miss Lydia turned from her friend. "Ah, Lizzie, please, sit. I feel as though we have hardly spoken tonight! You are looking delightful, my dear. I daresay this party is a success amongst the young men, if I am to judge by the way they are looking at you. Surely, you've noticed."

"No, I suppose I have not," Lizzie admitted.

Miss Lydia turned to her friend. "So modest, too!" Turning back to address Lizzie, she continued. "I am sure that you are aware of the fact that I've been considering taking on a young lady in my house. Someone lively, of a good standing, a morally correct girl, if you will. I require someone learned, with whom I can speak with as I wish. I had thought that my chances in this town were slim of finding such a young lady, if I am to be frank, but, my dear, then you came along, and I knew that you would be perfect. You need not worry about expenses-I will provide you with all that you will need. You will, of course, have much to learn and do, especially before we leave, but I feel that you are up to the challenge."

"Leave?" questioned Mrs. May, for Lizzie seemed quite incapable of speech.

"Why yes, did I forget to tell you? Later in the spring, I am planning to go abroad, to Italy, I am thinking. I have not been there in some time. I don't imagine that you've been there either, Lizzie. Oh, it is so lovely! I will rent a villa in Tuscany, and you will just love the gardens there. There is so much for a young girl to do."

"I, I do not know quite what to say," replied the girl, her voice barely audible.

"Say that you will accept my offer, please!"

What to say! Abandon Peter, even for a short time, how could she do it? And at the same time, to refuse the generosity of her benefactor, to scorn her favor, what shadows it would cast upon her family's name.

"Your offer is most gracious," she said at last.

"And yet I sense that you are troubled," Miss Lydia interjected kindly. "You need not give me your answer right away; a week should give you sufficient time to collect yourself. At the end of that time, then you may give me your answer."

"I don't see why she would need a week," said Mrs. May crossly. "Any girl who would turn down such an offer would be an ungrateful wench, hardly fit for polite company."

"Hush now! Lizzie, don't mind her; she's just a lonely old lady herself."

"You are one to speak of being old!" Mrs. May interjected indignantly.

"See my dear girl; this is why I must have you. Without such youthful company, I will become like Mrs. May," she exclaimed. Lizzie forced a smile, nodding as though she were amused.

At last, she was able to take her leave. Miss Lydia insisted on driving her home, telling her that no respectable girl would even thing of walking on her own at night. As the carriage rattled along the cobbled streets, Lizzie's earlier fear regarding her sister returned. If Miss Lydia were to know the truth, she thought, surely she would no longer want her company. Yes, a way out of this predicament!

"Miss Lydia, I assume that naturally, you require a girl whom, aside from being of a good moral standing herself, is also from an upright family," she said cautiously.

"Naturally."

"Then I feel that I must tell you this. There is a…scandal of sorts, which happened some years back, four, I think, with which my family is closely associated with.

Miss Lydia frowned. "Yes, I had heard something of the sort, but I could not quite believe it. I have met your mother and step-father, and I found them to be good, pious people."

"They are, yes, but…" she hesitated, but forced herself to continue. "As you know, I've a step-brother and step-sister."

"And a sister, if I correctly recall, married, I have heard."

"Yes, and it is she who this concerns. I had, or have, I suppose, another step-brother, Derek. He is about the age of my sister, and it is to him that she if married."

"Why did they wed?" Miss Lydia questioned after a moment of uncomfortable silence.

"I cannot say."

"I see." She fell into a silent reverie for a few minutes. Lizzie stared out the window, unexpectedly nervous about the woman's final reply.

Finally, Miss Lydia looked at her. "There is no such scandal attached to your name, I presume."

"Of course not!"

"Then I see no reason why the transgressions of your sister should ruin your prospects. My offer remains."

Lizzie masked her irritation with a small smile; now, if only Peter Hopkins would have such a cavalier reaction to her secret.

**0o0o0o0o0**

She met Peter the next day, as she had promised. As she caught sight of the handsome man, it seemed that all of her questions and internal dilemmas vanished. She eagerly flung herself into his arms, covering his face with kisses.

"I have missed you," she sighed. While she had not pined away, as some young ladies in love are prone to do, she had indeed missed him terribly, although she did not realize it until she saw him again.

"It has not yet been a full day since I last saw you!" he laughed.

"Yes, well, soon, we will not have to wait even a day to see each other once more," she replied coquettishly.

Smiling, he took her hand. "Do you mean that you accept my proposal, then?"

"There was never a question!" she exclaimed. "However, before we celebrate, I must admit something to you, that I do not think I have yet told you. Please, do not interrupt me as I tell, for it is difficult enough as it is."

"It is bad, then?" he questioned, discerning the hesitation that laced her voice.

"Yes, very bad, I think."

"Tell me, for I am sure that it will not change my feelings."

And so she told him. He listened silently, as he had promised, patiently nodding his head in understanding as she fumbled through her narrative. She told him everything that she had not told Miss Lydia. She spoke of her fear for her sister, and her conviction that Casey was happy. Finally, she finished, and doing so, turned to look at him expectantly.

"Well?"

"Well what? What you have told me makes no difference to me. I have told you that I would love you regardless, and my sentiments have not changed one bit! Lizzie, 'tis not your fault that your sister sinned so badly. You needn't worry about how it reflects upon you, for it doesn't!"

"Oh Peter!" she exclaimed, feeling the relief that his words brought her almost immediately. They sat together for a time in comfortable silence. At last, she said, "when should we tell my mother? You will, of course, need to ask my step-father, for I greatly admire him, and do want his approval. You shall find that he is a good, practical man, and there is no reason that he should oppose our marriage. Oh, when shall we wed? June, perhaps, surely no later…"

"Lizzie," he said softly, "there is something that I too must tell you. My father, as I have said, gave his permission to my wedding you, but it was contingent on one condition. There is, you see, a business opportunity in London. He has arranged for me to be in charge, and if it goes as it should, it will mean fortune and standing for me-for us. However, I must have a year on my own to establish myself. I will be rather poor for some time, and I cannot allow you to live with me for that period. London is a horrid place, if you are in the wrong part, and until I can ensure your safety, I'll not have you there."

"What are you saying, Peter?"

"I'm saying that I must leave you for a year, perhaps longer; I don't know, exactly."

"That means that you will never again be here, does it not? I thought you gave me your word…"

"I did, I do promise, Lizzie! Once I have money, one I am settled, I shall send for you."

"Promises, promises! Is that all you men can give? Is that not just like a man, to promise his love, promise his heart? You promise a girl all she wants, a home, love, and you promise until she cannot help but love you. And once you have her love, you can take your promises, and leave her waiting, until all those promises have been destroyed. Is that not right, Mr. Hopkins?"

"Lizzie, you know I care for you! I have promised to marry you, and I shall! By God, we shall one day be wed, but not until I can afford a wife! Not until I can treat you as you deserve to be treated."

"But I don't care! I don't care that we will be poor, not a bit. Have you not noticed that as it is, I am not a wealthy girl? Why, what will become of me when you are established, and you find yourself a rich man? How easy it will be to forget about me all together," she cried.

"I promise that I shan't forget you, love…"

"You talk as all men do. Talk, talk, talk. That is all you are good for! I have seen your sort before, Mr. Hopkins. I have seen girls tricked by such promises, and I suppose that I have not given up more to you, and that I still have my pride. I've given up only a piece of my heart, and it will grow back. I am sure of it. But I can tell you right now that I will not marry you! How can I when you do not care for me as I do you? You are to leave me here, Mr. Hopkins, and leave for London and go grand places."

Her thoughts in turmoil, Lizzie turned away in an attempt to hide her tears. To think that she had been duped into such a love affair, with a man that, she realized, she barely knew! What did he do all those years when he was away from her? Never before had she pondered this troubling idea, but now she could not escape it. She knew of London's reputation. It was rumored to be a dirty place, teeming with vermin of both the animal and the human sort. Perceiving her to be troubled, Peter placed his hand softly upon her shoulder.

At last, she turned back and looked at him. With a firm voice, her eyes devoid of any tears, she said, "I feel as though it is best that we never mention what has taken place between us these past few days."

He shook his head. "My offer remains, Lizzie. As long as you remain a free woman, I shall not rescind my proposal. I will wait, for as long as you may like, and I will continue to feel as I do now."

"Please, don't say any more! Have you not hurt me enough, sir?" she cried.

"You must know that it was never my intent to hurt you! I love you, and you surely know that!"

"Leave me be, Mr. Hopkins. Allow me to leave," she pleaded softly.

"For the time, I will. I shall write often."

"I wish you wouldn't."

"But I will, until you tell me at last that you do not care for me as I do you."

"I tell you that now, then. Let me be."

"Yet I know that you don't mean it. Was it not a day ago that I held you, and I swore to you my love, and you allowed me to kiss you, telling me how you had never felt otherwise?"

"Don't taunt me with such memories. I don't acknowledge those things I said. I feel as though yesterday, I was but a child, and today, I have grown," she bitterly remarked. "You will see that I meant nothing. I couldn't have. I will marry, you;ll see, and it shall me to a man who loves me, and I will love him in return. And then you will say, 'how happy she is, and how I wish I were the one to grant her such happiness.'"

"Hah! And you will be just as unhappy as your sister!" he replied. No sooner did he say these hateful words did he regret them. In his hurt, he had forgotten that Lizzie had, thus far, been sheltered from the truth about her sister's marriage.

"What do you mean to tell me," she asked, her tone offering him no opportunity for refusal.

"Lizzie, I apologize for my words. That was…"

"What did you mean?"

"I only meant that it is no secret in Dorchester that their marriage is not a happy one," he finally admitted.

"You told me she was happy! All the times I've asked, you told me she was happy!"

"I wanted to shield you from the truth! I meant you no harm, I didn't," Peter insisted. However, he could not finish his thought. There was a fire in her eyes, a certain determination that had once been evidenced in her older sister as well. She was not a girl to accept protection, nor was she one to allow another to tell her what she could rightly know. This was the same stubborn independence that her sister had once possessed. However, Casey was impulsive, ruled by her passions, whereas Lizzie was guided more by her rational, by a certain cool and corrected reasoning. For all her love for Peter, Lizzie would not have dared to give herself to him as a wife would her husband.

"You lied to me!" she said fiercely. She felt betrayed, as though he had broken her trust, breached that unspoken agreement between them to divulge everything to one another.

"I had to!"

"You had no right! She is my sister, and I deserve to know the truth. Were you worried that somehow it would ruin your chances with me, that knowing the truth, I would not wish to marry you? I wouldn't have, not then. Now, however, I am beginning to think you no better than Derek Venturi." This was the harshest insult she could think to bestow upon him, and indeed, he recoiled at her words.

"Take mind that I am nothing like that man. Never would I hurt you or use you as he does his wife."

"No more!" she cried. "Leave me, now. Go!"

"I love you, please, remem…"

"Go!" she screamed, and at last, he obeyed. Once he was out of her sight, Lizzie allowed herself to fall to the ground, sobbing for the love she wasn't sure she ever really had.

**0o0o0o0o0**

**AN: Review, please. I will try to update before break ends, but I make no promises.**

**Oh! And I am officially a beta reader. Feel free to request me, for I daresay I am a better beta than I am author.**


	19. Chapter Fourteen

**A/N: I don't know where to even begin. So, to spare those who might still be reading, I'll skip all excuses and just go on with the story. After this, two chapters and an epilogue. The next chapter should be up sometime next week. Also, the story will be undergoing major edits over the summer. So, next fall, reread everything. It should be far better **

**Disclaimer: Most of the character I do not own.**

* * *

_My dearest Lizzie, _

_I hope that you are well, and pray that soon, I shall have word of you, for I've half the mind to return to you, so long has it been since I last beheld your face. You surely know that you are often in my thoughts; there have been times, in fact, that I have thought so hard of you that I believe you to be in my very presence! Laugh, yes, laugh, but allow this fact to be a testament of my love. I saw yesterday a fine home overlooking Hyde Park, and a young couple, a child between them, walking out the door. I saw in those two us in a year or two, and I pray you do not think me presumptuous for saying so. I remain true to you, and to your memory, and I hope that you regard me with fondly, if not with the same love. My work here is hard, and the pay hardly worth what I must suffer. My living condition is such that I cannot even think of describing it to you, for to even hear about it is enough to give even the bravest person nightmares. With such a life, as I currently have, I find that I cannot regret my decision to leave you with your family, as I work my way up. Never could I allow for you to experience this life, this place. In truth, I am looking to move the business out of London, for the things one sees in this city are haunting, and to behold them is something a lady such as yourself should never have to do._

_I remain your faithful servant_

_Forever yours, _

_Peter Hopkins_

_Dear Mr. Hopkins,_

_I wish to remind you first of propriety. Insofar as I know, you have neither the right nor the permission to refer to Miss MacDonald with such familiarity. Should your letters be found, her reputation will be sorely hurt, and I am sure that this is not you intention. Second, if, as I have been lead to believe, my sister has rejected you, I must insist that you cease your attempts to correspond with her. You do yourself no favors in writing, and, in fact, your letters have no meaning to her, for she has gone abroad. So please, do not attempt to write or see her, for I fear it would only disturb her greatly. _

_Edwin Venturi_

Peter read once more over the letter, certain that he had to have missed something. Abroad! How could that be? Was she entirely removed from England? Had she married, as she had threatened to do? But no, surely her brother would have mentioned that, undoubtedly with some perverse glee. Edwin Venturi, if the letter was any indication, was not one to soften the blow of rejection. Peter crumpled the letter in his hand, angrily throwing it into the dirty street. He trudged on, deep in thought.

What option did he have in leaving Lizzie behind? To expose her to this city, this hell, filthy, swarming with monstrous gutter creatures, where the rodents of the earth congregated, he could not do. The mere consideration filled him with a certain terror unmatched by anything he could possibly come across on his own. That she should walk the same streets that accommodated these whores and thieves was a thought that seemed to him sacrilegious. Still, how he missed her!

He did not suffer alone. Lizzie too thought often about him, although her thoughts were less tender than his. She did not understand anything: she had decided to forget him, and to live her life alone, or, at least, with someone else. She was in Italy, living abroad, something she had so often dreamed of, and yet, rather than feeling elations, she remained noticeably depressed. It all seemed rather silly to her: she had never known him well, despite everything they had said to one another. She wondered how words could have changed her so irrevocably, how her passions could be so swayed by the tender caresses of a man. It was silly, she thought often, silly to continue her mourning.

And yet, she was learning that her emotions paid little notice to her rational thoughts. She looked upon the flirtatious men with a certain aloof disgust, critical of their every move, ready to chastise a man for the slightest breach in propriety. Her behavior, while certainly not offensive to her companion, nevertheless worried Miss Lydia. She had once been a young girl as well, and she well knew that to a young girl, the flirtatious advances of handsome young men are everything. She prided herself on being well aware of the time in which she lived, and while she acknowledged, somewhat sadly, that much had changed, she knew that that certainly was not one of them.

"Why, I believe, Miss MacDonald, that you are leaving a trail of disappointed young men at every party," she declared one evening to her sullen companion. Lizzie smiled amiably.

"I am sorry, but I cannot help it. They are all so frivolous that I can hardly stand to be near them. They are not at all like…" She stopped short of saying that name, the name which she had forbidden herself from either thinking or saying. He was a taboo subject, an old ideal that she was no longer obliged to think of.

They returned in June, Lizzie unmarried, much to her mother's dismay.

"You should be happier, having been on such a great adventure," Edwin teased her one balmy afternoon, as they walked together amongst the oaks of the forest.

"And what makes you think that I am not happy? What reason would I have?"

For a moment, Edward considered telling her about the letters, certain that her mood had much to do with her former acquaintance. But, he could not find the heart to do so, and let the topic rest. That evening, upon talking with Nora, it was resolved that Casey would be called to speak with her sister.

**0o0o0o0o0o0**

"I see that you have been hard at work. Dare I interrupt?"

Casey slowly opened her eyes. "I was taking a break, is all," she said, rising from her position by the fire, sending the fabric she had been working on flying as she did so. Derek let out a low chuckle as she hurriedly gathered up her things, flushing a customary red. She smiled tentatively at him. She was not yet ready to fall into the familiarity of domesticity with him, though they had been married for some time. A truce had been formed that night a month ago, and yet, it seemed to her that it was precarious, at best, and that soon, like the gates of Gibraltar, a single action would sent the peace crumbling all around them.

And she knew best what that action might be.

"I was tired, is all," she explained as she pulled herself off the ground, wiping a drop of sweat from her forehead. It was a particularly warm day in early August, and the small cottage seemed to Derek unusually warm.

"Not sick again?"

Vehemently, she shook her head. "No, Derek, not sick. At least, no more so than usual. I haven't been sick in months, as you ought to know." With a sigh, she turned away, busying herself with nothing in particular. After a pause, she said, "I received a letter from my mother."

"Does it concern my family?"

"No, not at all; it's Lizzie, is all," she quickly explained, turning now towards her husband, her face shadowed by the light of the fire.

"I suppose you mean to go see her, then. When do you think to leave?"

"Tomorrow, if possible. I shall be gone for no more than a week."

"Why tell me of this? What you do is no concern of mine; you needn't explain yourself."

"It's the money, Derek; I need funds for the trip. We haven't much in our savings, as you ought to know. I certainly hoping that you've found a new commission," she added.

"Yes, I've been looking," he said with a resigned sigh. It seemed as though they'd had this conversation far too many times lately. He well knew that until he presented her with the bank notes, she'd not allow him a moment's rest.

"It doesn't matter for this," she said at length, easing herself back down into her chair. "Mother has offered to reimburse me for the train fare. I need only enough to get there."

Startled, he stared at her. Not being the sort of man easily discouraged from seeking the truth when he wanted to, he pushed, "why accept? I'm sure we have enough-"

"It's not your business."

"Surely I have the right to know if we are lacking in funds. Why, you ought to be rather proud of me, for I've not been to the alehouse in nearly a month."

"We are fine in the way of money. It's as kind gesture on her part, as I am doing her a favor. If you insist on knowing, Lizzie is having difficulties it seems. Mother thinks I may be able to help her."

"Have you been feeling ill again?" he pressed.

"Derek, I have told you already. Why must we repeat the mundane? I am fine; at least, fine in that respect."

"What is that supposed to mean? And don't bother lying, my dear. You are wretched at it."

"I don't care to discuss this any further."

"I do."

"I will tell you, eventually," she said at last. Got up and moved past him under the guise of setting out a meal. She tensed and stopped as she felt a strong hand steady her own shaking hands, but still she refused to turn around to look at her husband. He pressed his lips to her cheek with an uncommon tenderness, and she shuddered.

"I will find out," he whispered, and she did not need to look upon his smug countenance to see the smirk upon his face.

"Yes, I suppose you will. It's inevitable, in fact," she muttered, turning around and swiftly ducking under his arm. "But, first, I am visiting my sister."

"What do you mean to say?"

"Exactly what I said. Now, Derek, I'm not being so unclear, am I?" A small smile betrayed her jest as she tilted up her head to look into his eyes. "I will tell you when I tell you, and that is final."

"If it concerns this family…"

"And it very much does."

"…Then I deserve to know. Tell me, at least, if it is good and bad." Once again, he took hold of her arm as she tried to dance away from him.

"It all depends, I suppose."

"Casey! Enough with this jest. Will you tell me what the matter is, or must I beat it out of you?"

She stopped trying to pull away at last, and with a sigh, nodded. The tension that had briefly dissipated from the house saturated the household once more as she stiffened in his grasp.

"Very well." She took a seat, steadied herself, and without further pretense said, "We're going to have another child."

And then, she fell into a faint.

**0o0o0o0o0**

When Casey arrived in Salisbury a fortnight later, she was met with curious stares and malicious whispers from the town. Head as high as she could hold it, she grasped her hat as the cart bumped along the winding roads, leading to her former home. The driver glanced, one or twice, curiously at the stoic woman beside him, but said nothing, for which Casey was thankful.

"I'm terribly sorry we could not be waiting," Nora apologized when Casey arrived. "The younger children… I do hope the ride was not uncomfortable."

"It was quite fine, Mother. I ought to be the one to apologize; I fell sick, quite unexpectedly, and Derek would not allow me to leave the house until I had proven myself better."

"And you are, aren't you? Better, I mean."

Casey turned to her sister, embracing her. "Of course, Lizzie. I do believe I was always all right, but you know how the doctors enjoy scaring people. Now, dear, we didn't come to talk about me. Why, I haven't seen you in so long! We must catch up. Perhaps a walk. Yes, I think I would do quite nicely to walk about after such a day."

"Yes," Lizzie said, her own eyes alight with excitement. "Once we've put up your belongings, we can walk the old trail. Do you remember it, Casey, how you loved it so?"

"Yes, I do now…" Casey trailed off.

"Casey?"

Startled, she shook her head. "I'm sorry; old memories. Now, lets get things settled and enjoy the day."

**0o0o0o0o0**

"I have often wondered how you are faring…" Casey said as they settled themselves by a small stream.

"Casey, let us talk under no pretense. I am quite aware that mother has sent for you."

"Of course," Casey laughed. "I'm sure you worked quite hard to find that out. She's worried, Lizzie. She told me it had to do with a suitor of yours. One of much importance, I suspect, if I am to judge based upon your actions."

"I was in love, and he was cruel to me. Perhaps I was irrational, perhaps he was as well. It doesn't matter now, does it? I've decided that I'll marry whomever it is that I am asked to marry. I'll fulfill the duties of the good daughter without word."

"Lizzie, you are so young; you shouldn't fear for your life, or for matrimony. And I tell you now that perhaps to be without a man would not be so horrid as is generally feared."

Lizzie glanced at her sister. "Do you regret your marriage, then? Do you mean to tell me that were you to go through this again, you would have not dared to marry Derek?"

"I…I can't quite answer that question," Casey said at long last. "There are days when I wish-oh, how I wish- that I had never married him. Such days, I must confess, seem to me more frequent than other days. And on those days, I think back, and I wonder whether it would have been better had I born the stigma of mothering a bastard child, if I wouldn't be happier, and if Charlotte might still be alive. I think that perhaps I never loved him, that I allowed myself to be seduced, knowing there was no love in his heart."

"Casey!" Lizzie gasped, "What a thing to say!"

"Yes, I know. And still, don't look so distraught, dear one, for there are days that I think…I think that I am happy to have married Derek. There are times that I look at him and I wonder if I don't love him still. And it pains me to see what has become of us, for I think of what might have been, were he and I better people, more compatible."

"It seems to me that a few days of peace are not enough to counteract the misery," Lizzie said softly.

"Oh, but you don't understand," Casey sighed. "Those days, the good ones, I mean, oh, how happy I am!"

"I think that perhaps…no, no, I can't understand," Lizzie said, shaking her head. "I think nothing can be worth it. Do you even love him still, on those good days?".

"There is no answer I can give that will satisfy you, nor do I have one that will satisfy even myself. It's a very strange thing, I'll admit."

"I don't think that I could live like that, never knowing whether I was loved or not, or whether I even could love. The idea, it frightens me. The whole notion of marriage…" she trailed off. "Perhaps it is just as well that he did not stay, that he left. Perhaps it is better this way."

"Please," Casey entreated, "do not base your opinions on what I have told you. You know very well that my marriage is not representative of anything. I hadn't a choice-I had to marry Derek if I wanted to try to salvage my reputation, and that of this family. You have the luxury of choosing whom you wish to wed, if you choose to do so at all. Just think of all that you may do that I could never have done! Our lives are so different that you cannot possibly think to model your opinions based on my situation. You have the options that I was never afforded…"

"No," Lizzie coldly interjected, "you are wrong; you did have a choice. You had the choice not to be seduced, to keep your modesty. You chose to ruin yourself. Perhaps I have more of a choice than you did in who I choose to marry, but I do not have the freedom and opportunities that you speak of; you have effectively seen to that."

The older girl turned her head as though struck by the words, but Lizzie felt no guilt for her words. Casey had spoken as though she were wronged, as though she were an innocent party. Though soft spoken by nature, Lizzie could not stand to hear the excuses of the guilty. At least, not when it seemed to her all the world was falling down around her.

"If you knew how I have suffered with that knowledge," Casey whispered distantly.

"How you have suffered? Of course you should think to say that," Lizzie cried. "You have always thought of yourself first, Casey. Yes, I'm sure you've suffered so. I know your husband, and I must confess that I have always thought him a wretched man. But what of your family? Have you any idea of what your transgression has done? Do you know how it nearly destroyed mother? You know she is of a nervous character, and that she is still adjusting to her new marriage. And then to have her daughter…" Lizzie shook her head in disgust, unable to finish her thought.

Casey's blue eyes flashed with hurt as she turned to meet Lizzie's eyes.

"Do you not understand how that knowledge has hurt me? Do you not think that I have struggled with guilt over what I have done? I know not of what it cost you, not entirely, and I shouldn't want to know, for I can imagine it well enough. I have paid, and I am still paying for my sins."

"Paying," Lizzie scoffed, "paying, she says. Yes, I suppose that wondering if you love your husband is paying, although I'm not sure how much it is worth."

"I say that now, but that is recent, so recent! What I have felt, what has happened, you don't know any of it! Those first few years, how I hated him so. You well know what sort of man Derek is, what he is capable of. He hated me, perhaps he still does. He was cruel, crueler than I would have thought possible. He wasted our money, leaving me alone every night, finding his pleasure in the taverns and in the arms of whores. Lizzie, I don't know what I can do, how else I can pay for what I have done. Do you understand that I have lost everything because of my actions? I have lost any chance of complete happiness, all respect, everything I have ever had. My daughter, Lizzie, I have lost my daughter. Surely you do not think it coincidence that I should lose the only good thing that came from my sins, do you?" She stopped as a rattling cough wracked her body. With labored breathing, she shook off Lizzie's attendance, producing from her skirts a plain handkerchief. Lizzie tried not to look at the dark red stains that dotted the white fabric.

"Are you all right?" she asked tentatively, trying to mask the apprehension in her voice.

"I am quite fine; 'twas simply the remnants of a slight illness I had a few weeks prior," Casey said dismissively.

Lizzie was silent, trying to understand all that she had just heard. By nature, Casey was a proud girl, and she was certainly not given to giving up so much of herself to another. Casey was paler now, although Lizzie wasn't sure if it was due to her fit or her realization of all she had just revealed.

"Casey, I didn't…"

"No, please, Lizzie, don't say anything. Please, I didn't mean to speak out so; I was angered, that is all. Let's forget that any of this ever happened, that I said a word," Casey entreated.

"Casey, I can't…"

"You must! Really, you can't take what I've said to heart, for I've been acting so strange lately, saying this and that, not quite thinking. You see, I'm having another child… Oh, what an inappropriate thing to say at this time!" Casey exclaimed, "but I've been keeping this to myself for a month or two, and I just had to say something…oh, Lizzie, can you forgive me? I know that you said I make these things about me, and here I am proving your point."

"Casey, no, that's wonderful news! Of course I can forgive you. Oh, how happy I am for you now. Have you really told no one?"

"Only my husband, and he hardly knew what to say."

"Is he happy as well?"

Casey shrugged. "I don't quite know. We haven't really talked much about it. I fell sick shortly thereafter, and he didn't care to discuss something that could bring me to hysterics. But I don't think that he's angry. That's something, at least."

"Well, I am certain that he is just as pleased as you are," Lizzie announced, throwing her arms around her older sister.

Now, she thought as she congratulated her sister, now if she could only find her own happiness.

**0o0o0o0o0**

Her happiness came in the form of a rumor in late September. A man had recently come to town, moving into an old, formerly abandoned home on the outskirts of town. It was a rather decent property, costing no small amount. Emily Davis was the first to mention this in the Venturi-MacDonald household.

"He's handsome, that one," she said, looking at Lizzie as she spoke. "I saw 'im myself just today as I was going about town. Yes, a handsome chap, certainly of great prospects."

Lizzie raised an elegant eyebrow. "Your job is not to spread the latest town gossip," she reminded the girl. From her seat nearby, Marti looked up.

"Don't be so strict, Lizzie! Some of us do have a vested interest in the happenings of society."

"Marti, you are all of thirteen. You needn't be thinking of society quite yet," Lizzie reminded the young girl, a hint of a smile upon her face.

"Well, someone must look out for this family," Marti huffed. "Now, Emily, please, go on."

"He's a young lawyer, I believe. I've heard that he had established himself in London, and had recently moved back. I can't understand why, but then, 'tis the way of the lucky to be odd, I suppose."

"London, you say? What is the name of this young man?"

"I couldn't tell you, Miss Lizzie. Perhaps you ought to call on him."

"Perhaps you ought to stay out of my affairs," she bit back. Turning towards Marti, she said, "No more of this talk of newcomers. We will stay out of the affairs of others."

As she swept out of the room, Emily and Marti glanced at one another, snickering silently.

"A mad one, she is," Emily muttered.

"Indeed, she is," agreed Marti.

"I heard that," she called back. "Tell mother that I'm going out for a bit. It's gotten too rowdy in this home for my tastes."

**0o0o0o0o0**

She didn't mean to walk out by the hill she had abandoned along with her dreams of Peter Hopkins, but such is where she found herself. She also did not mean to hope that she would be alone, and yet, upon seeing no one else about, she felt herself drift back into a familiar melancholy.

"Silly girl," she chided herself.

"I see no such thing," a voice boomed from behind her.

She closed her eyes, willing him to be but a phantom. But then, she could feel him standing by her side. Could one feel a phantom, a figment?

"Please, don't speak," the figure said. "I've moved back. I suppose I couldn't stand the thought of staying once I had fulfilled my contract, not when I thought that you hated me so. Do you really hate me, Lizzie?"

"Mr. Hopkins," she said, stepping away from him, "how pleasant it is to see you. Will you be in town long? Or are you just here to make more promises that you can't keep?"

"That's not fair. I hadn't a choice. I had to leave to make a living. I'm back now, though. I'm back for you. I promised I'd return, and I have. Lizzie, don't turn away from me!"

He grasped her arm. Briefly, she struggled, but her struggles gave way to tears. He pulled her closer, and she allowed herself to fall into his embrace.

"I didn't want to love you anymore," she whispered. "I…oh, I was unreasonable, perfectly horrid, in fact. I felt so wronged. Peter, you can't understand how I've wondered if I made a mistake in letting you go…" She trailed off.

"I'm not leaving without you this time. I've bought a home here. It's big enough for us both, if you will have me yet."

She looked up, startled. "Peter, we've not seen one another in nearly a year! Your proposal…"

"I told you I would not leave you until you had abandoned me for another. Now, enough small talk. Will you take me or not? I can't stand this torment any longer."

She smiled up at him demurely. "Why, so insistent Mr. Hopkins! We've only just seen one another. No, I don't think I'm quite ready to commit myself to you."

"But Lizzie…"

"Still, there is much you might do to sway me," she finished. He laughed and pressed his lips to her cheeks.

"Well, then, would you care to walk with me, Miss MacDonald?"

"I would be delighted, Mr. Hopkins."

Two weeks later, they were engaged.

**0o0o0o0o0**

**A/N: Please, despite the long pause in updates, review. You really don't know how much I rely on reviews as inspiration. More reviews, more guilt I feel over not updating, and the faster I write. Also, it's a bit tiring and discouraging to get only three or four reviews per chapter. In all seriousness, it's rather saddening. As much as I like to be unique, being one of the least successful authors on this site is not an aspiration I strive to reach. So, review. Even a word makes me happy.**


	20. Temptation: Part III

**A/N: Sorry for the delay in the update, but it took considerably longer to write than I supposed. I've also been rather busy with my (unofficial) job, and when I get home, I'm often far too tired to sit down and think, which I must do in writing this story. But, enough excuses :) **

**I cannot thank everyone enough for their support. I am forever reminded why I have the best fans when I read your reviews. Please, keep them coming; you don't know how happy they make me. **

**This is the final part of 'Temptation,' and may be regarded as the beginning to our story (or, is it the end? I suppose one may argue either way). I think you will find that there is much to be enjoyed as far as Dasey interactions go here. It's a nice light chapter, the calm before the storm, if you will excuse the cliché. Enjoy!**

**Emily**

**Note: I have also corrected the spelling of Casey's last name in this chapter, though I have NOT gotten around to doing so in previous chapters. Please excuse the inconsistancy; it will be fixed within the next few days. **

**Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to the folks who created the show. Needless to say, that is not me.**

"_The only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it."_  
-Oscar Wilde, _The Picture of Dorian Gray_

**0o0o0o0**

"My dear Miss McDonald, where ever have you been? Why, I swear I've been half out of my mind with fear, worrying so about you. Oh, hello there, Mr. Mabry. You must be the fellow who has stolen away the attentions of my lovely sister. Well, I am afraid that I must steal her away. You know that I must act as guard for Miss McDonald's honor. We mustn't allow her to be placed in situation in which tongues start wagging. And be assured that…"

"Mr. Mabry, I apologize for my step-brothers interruption. However, he is right; it has grown late, and I really must be returning home."

"And soon, for I won't wait around for so long to accompany you home, sister. And what a shame it would be to walk home alone, without any protection, like a common…"

"Mr. Venturi, that is enough of your talk. Now, Mr. Mabry, I feel I must take leave." Casey McDonald smiled apologetically at the older man, sparing him one last glance before trotting off to keep up with Derek.

"You may thank me now," he said at a whisper when they had removed themselves from Mr. Mabry's vicinity.

"Whatever for?"

He nodded towards Mr. Mabry, a short, stout looking man with a look of confusion etched upon a plain, swollen face. "For helping you take leave of Mabry there. Who knows what might have happened if I hadn't been around to keep you from his grasps," he sighed with all the melodramatic flair of an actor in a playhouse.

"I was fully capable of helping myself," she returned. "I was just having a quiet talk with him, all completely innocent. I neither needed nor wanted your assistance or whatever it was you were doing."

"Oh, but think of how your honor would suffer if one were to see you linked with that fool!"

Her voice still low as to not call attention to herself, she replied, "my honor was perfectly safe. I should think it safer around him than in the presence of a man to whom virtue mean nothing." She followed her barb with a smile as they passed an old woman notorious for her venomous tongue. "Derek, why must you bother me like this?"

"I was helping you, my dear sister. You looked pained. Not even you can possibly find anything of interest to speak to Mr. Mabry about."

"I could have removed myself from the conversation at any time."

"You're far too polite to do any such thing. You would have listened until he eventually stumbled out some proposal, which you, in your desperation, would have taken."

Casey glowered at him, and he laughed. "Oh, that's right. You aren't going to marry. An old maid forever. Always alone, never making the family proud, but living independently, I suppose…"

"Derek, hush. I've not made up my mind yet. I'll not marry some man from here, though. Not that anyone would have me, what with your reputation scarring my prospects." She let go of his arm, for they had reached the path home where they would see very few, if any, neighbors. She sped up, a small smile upon her lips as she flitted through the brush. She turned back to look at Derek. He was following her in no great hurry, his face softened by the late afternoon light that filtered through the branches above. A look of amusement rather than contempt played across his face, and Casey stopped short.

"No, don't stop dancing about," he said. "It was rather amusing to see such a lady behave like a girl. And here I was, wondering if you had ever been a youthful child."

Her cheeks infused with red, Casey ducked her head. "I'd forgotten you were there," she said softly.

"Don't be afraid," he returned. "I'll be sure not to tell anyone that you have a side that is not caught up entirely in propriety."

"Hush, Derek. I'd almost forgiven you for your behavior with Mr. Mabry," she said lightly. "I still don't understand why you spoke so cruelly to him."

"I did not speak to him 'cruelly.' Not in a way that he could possibly understand, at least."

"So much distaste for a man we hardly know!"

"I know him well enough. A good, pious, upright fellow. Never brawls, never drinks, never makes a fuss or scandal over anything." Derek paused, as though in deep contemplation. "Why, he's just the sort of fellow you'd fall for, although he's awfully plain."

She exhaled loudly, shaking her head as she did so. Turning around to stand towards him, she placed her hands on her hips, cocking her head slightly. "What's wrong with good men, Derek? I know it's something you are entirely unfamiliar with, but please, do tell."

He shrugged. "The same thing that's wrong with perfectly decent and good females; they are entirely boring. I find that whenever I speak with the good man, I can hardly stand to listen. All agreement and nods. It's all rather dull."

She did not respond, but rather turned back around to silently continue her trek home.

"What, no argument?" he asked as he too moved onward, easily catching up to her.

"I'm a good girl, and I thought you didn't like good people. I'm just trying not to bore you," she said, lowering her voice and fluttering her long lashes.

"You're too entertaining to be boring," he replied.

"My goodness, was that a compliment? Ought I to feel honored?"

He nudged her with his shoulder as a response, and they continued on, a light air surrounding them as they traded barbs with familiarity and tenderness.

**0o0o0o0**

"Derek!" A shrill voice rang out through the small clearing, echoing through the tangle of trees surrounding the area and scattering the birds from their perches. A young man of eighteen or nineteen stirred from his supine position by a stream, but did not rise at the sound of his name.

"Derek!" The cry was closer and higher in pitch. A female emerged from the tree line, and headed purposefully towards the man lying in repose. When she had reached him, she stopped, looking down upon him with a frown on her lovely face.

Slowly, he opened one eye, peering at the girl. "What is it?" he muttered, once again closing his eyes against the glare of the mid afternoon sun.

She didn't respond immediately. A smile flitted across her lips, and carefully, she nudged him with the toe of her boot in response. He groaned, lazily swatting at her leg. She giggled and nudged him again, this time hopping back as he reached to grab her.

"Now, now," she admonished, "that's no way to handle a lady."

"You're no lady; you're my step-sister. Now, tell me what was so important as to make you rouse me from my rest or leave me be."

"Your father was looking for you," she said at last. "It seems you've been missing for most of the day."

"I would have thought you'd notice my absence," he said.

"Why would I?"

He gave a shrug and turned away from her. "I've been here. Father can come for me if he likes."

"He said it was about the apprenticeship with the firm, or something of that nature."

His head jerked up. "Why didn't you say that when I asked you what you wanted?" he asked as he pulled himself off the ground, dusting off his shirt and pants and grabbing his hat, which lay carelessly on its side. He took off in the direction of the town, his long stride carrying him swiftly across the field. She hurried behind him, trotting to keep up with him, pausing only to skirt a large puddle of mud, evidence of a recent bout of rain.

"Is it terribly important, then?" she called out as they hurried along.

"Yes," he replied without turning back to look at her.

"Will it come to anything of importance later?"

"I should hope so."

"Will you be going away?"

At this, he paused, sparing her a small glance before taking off again. His mouth pursed in annoyance and his brows furrowed, he replied, "I should hope so. What's it to you, anyway? And must you follow me?"

"I'm just curious. Why is it you haven't told anyone about this? You love to brag."

"It was nobody's business but my own. Now, if you will please leave, it is of the upmost importance that I make a good impression, and your inane questions are only slowing me down."

Behind him, he heard a squeal and a splash as she found herself going through a rather large puddle. "Go home, Casey," he said. "It's too dangerous for someone like you to go running about."

Whatever she replied, he did not hear, although he would later assert that it was most unladylike.

**0o0o0o0**

"How was it? Was everything all right?" Casey exploded as Derek entered the sitting room that evening. He glanced warily at her and shrugged.

"I suppose."

"Will you not say more than that? I don't know how this all works, but I should think that you are terribly excited. I know I am about the college…"

"Casey, I don't care to discuss my affairs with you. Now, is my father home?"

Pouting, she said, "yes, but why won't you talk about it? You love to talk. That's all you ever seem to be doing…"

He had already left the room, but undaunted, she moved to follow him. She found the door to his fathers study shut, the sound still reverberating around her. She pressed her ear to the heavy oak door, but could only make out muffled sounds and murmurs. Frowning, she went to edge the door open, but found it firmly shut and locked. Crouching, she tried to peer under the door frame in hopes to hear something through such a way.

"Casey?" Startled at the voice, she snapped her head up and with as much grace as she could muster, moved to feign a purpose, as is human nature, so as to lessen her guilt.

"I was just looking for my earring," she said to Lizzie, who looked on with amusement. "Now, either help me find it or move along."

Lizzie shrugged and walked away, and Casey heard the faint sounds of laughter as her sister disappeared around the corner. Discouraged, she got up, arranging her skirts and hair as she did so. She decided that she would have to find out what had happened through some other means.

**0o0o0o0**

She found the opportunity a few days later when Derek mentioned that he was going into town for some reason or another. Jumping up, she offered to walk with him. "I've been meaning to get some new things for my hat," she said, "And I could certainly use the escort. After all, Derek is such a strong man that surely I'd be safe with him."

Derek glowered at her, but held out his arm, which she took promptly. They did not speak when they began their walk. Around them, the air was unnaturally still and damp, the promise of a storm heavy in the air. Over the tree tops, angry clouds of black and gray dominated, devouring all traces of blue, flowing and rolling through the sky. In the distance, a rumble shook the earth, and Casey gripped tighter to Derek's arm.

"It's about to storm," he observed.

"Yes, it is," she agreed.

Indeed, they were not yet at the halfway mark when the Heaven's unleashed their fury. The rain fell unrelenting, blinding those unfortunate enough to be outside. Lightening painted the sky blue and purple and pink, and the thunder roared, trying to compete with the howl of the wind for dominance. Neither person able to speak to be heard, Derek pulled Casey under the shelter of the towering trees, which swayed dangerously around them. They huddled together, blindly feeling their way around for some sort of shelter. Across a field, they caught sight of a small barn, hardly sturdy enough to withstand the force of the storm. Without a glance at his companion, Derek began racing towards the shelter, dragging Casey behind him, slowing only when she stumbled on a fallen branch.

The shelter, which was more of a lean-in, offered little respite from the rain, for it blew in on all sides, continuing its assault. Impetuously, Casey leaned into his arms, burying her face in his neck. When the world was so angry, all thoughts of propriety, all thoughts of right and wrong vanished, washed away with the river of rain. He did not resist or make any comments, but embraced her, pressing her close to his body.

The storm could not carry on as it was for very long. The damage done, the fury dissipated and soon all that was left was the soft patter of rain in a melodious aftermath. Still shaking, for she was of a nervous disposition and the storm had frightened her, Casey moved from Derek's arms, her cheeks pale, her dark hair plastered to the sides of her face where it had fallen from the pins holding it up. Derek did not easily let her go, however, grasping her wrists and pulling her towards him once more. She glanced up at him, and found his eyes darkening dangerously, gazing intently at her. His eyes never leaving hers, he leaned down and kissed her so swiftly as to leave her wondering if she had dreamt the even. He backed away, shaking his head as though clearing the fog from his mind. Stunned, she dared not speak. He looked at her once more, and then held his hand out of the shelter.

"It's about stopped. Let us get home. We're in no state to go into town today."

Mutely, she nodded her agreement, trailing behind him as he walked out into the soggy field.

It took far longer to navigate their way around, for in their panic, they had stepped off the familiar trail and into the tangle of the primeval forest. They skirted branches and puddles, Derek leading the way. Several times, Casey began to bring up the mysterious events that had transpired within the confines of their shelter in the storm, but stopped short, afraid of disturbing the strange peace that seemed to surround both she and Derek. She was not even certain that what she had thought to happen had, in fact, happened, or if it were merely a product of a weakened mind.

In the days following the strange interaction she found that her path seldom crossed with Derek's. She dared not ask him to accompany her anywhere, nor did he tease her, as was his habit. Still, she did not venture to guess why this might be, nor did she make any statement regarding the unnatural tension that imbued the air when they stood near one another. It was a week later that finally, she found herself walking with him at her side one morning. It was in silence that they walked until they reached a point in the woods in which the burnt out shell of a tree was seen. There was no doubt that it was the victim of the savage storm the other day, and at the memory, Casey shuddered.

"You never thanked me for finding you shelter the other day," he remarked. Startled, Casey grabbed a hold of his arm, stopping him.

"And why should I have thanked you?" she asked, raising an eyebrow in skepticism. "It was your duty, as my brother, to protect me."

Smirking, he shook his head. "Now, now," he said, "I've never really thought of myself as your brother, nor you as my sister."

"Well, you are, though. Quite legally, we are, by all means, related. I don't quite see why you'd be in any position to deny it. If anything, I should wish to distance myself from you."

In that exchange, the mood between the two youths lightened, and Casey felt herself relax as she fell into the familiar rapport. Yet, beneath the banter, beneath the familiarity, there remained something else entirely. Some new force had taken hold of the two, and it lay heavily upon their consciouses. When Derek grasped her hand in his own, he was keenly aware of the warmth of her skin, the smoothness of her tiny hands. Her laughter was deeper, more coquettish now, a sound infinitely more mature and calculating.

"So, then, if I am not your sister," Casey continued, "then I oughtn't to allow you to take my arm so casually."

"Well, then, I suppose that I must be your brother."

"Yes, you must."

"May I then kiss your brow, as a brother?"

"I suppose you may."

"And your cheek. 'Tis pale and sickly. Is it not my duty to warm it for you?"

"It is, indeed."

"There! Rosy and maidenly. But, oh, your other cheek now is quite pale still. It is only fair that I heal that one as well."

"I do imagine that you must do so."

"Now your lips look so lonely. I suppose I may touch them, too, for they cannot feel left out?" he said softly, leaning into her.

"Yes, yes it is true that you must heal them as well. It is your duty, after all," she whispered, tilting her head up and allowing his lips to gently touch her own.

**0o0o0o0**

It was late evening when they arrived home. When Lizzie questioned Casey on what had taken her so long, Casey merely smiled, for the truth was, they had not made it out of the forest.

**0o0o0o0**

"Must you stand so close to me?" Casey murmured as they walked together throughout the crowded streets. Derek's hand was resting upon the small of her back in a casual pose. He gave a small smile.

"If we walk stiffly and apart, people will think something to be wrong. This is perfectly acceptable."

Her lips turned up slightly. "Whatever do you think they'd believe is wrong?" she asked. He chuckled.

Peering in all directions and ascertaining that no one was watching, he pulled Casey into a darkened alley and planted a kiss upon her rosy lips. Blushing, she pushed him away. "Derek! Anyone can see us!" she admonished.

"Let them see, then," he returned, giving her one more kiss.

**0o0o0o0**

"Shall we meet today?" Derek whispered a fortnight later as he passed Casey on the landing of their home. "I've not seen you in some time. I fear you may be tiring of me already."

"I can't today, Derek."

"Than perhaps tomorrow or…"

"No, I'm afraid I can't at all this week," she said, her eyes downcast, avoiding his piercing gaze.

"Casey, you've been acting rather strange…"

"Not here, Derek. This is neither the time nor place. I've not been feeling well, is all. Leave me alone."

She tried to walk away, but he took her arm. "Damn it, Casey, what's wrong with you? Have you suddenly decided that you're too proud for this? Well," he sneered, "it's too late for regrets."

She wrenched her arm away from him and scowled. "Leave me alone."

**0o0o0o0**

"Derek, we must talk," Casey whispered one evening, five days later. He nodded, his grin melting into a frown as he perceived her frozen countenance. Silently, she slipped out the door, looking behind her to see if he was coming. She continued on, past the row of houses lining the street until they were well out of public sight. They had neither spoken nor met as usual in over a week, Casey's behavior erratic and secretive throughout. Now, she paced back and forth, shivering despite the moderate May air. He remained without words, content to observe her behavior. Finally, she stopped, and fixed him with a haunted gaze. From the little light provided by the moon, he could see her eyes were swollen and dim, as though a part of her had disappeared.

"What is it, Casey?"

She looked away, her hands clasped, her face pallid. "I…I hardly know what to say," she whispered at last.

"I've things to get done. I haven't any time for your nonsense," he replied. She did not respond, but rather, began her frenzied pace once more. Swiftly, he walked towards her, stopping her.

"I suppose that this will be our last time meeting like this," he said at length. She nodded.

"Yes," she agreed. She glanced up at him. "But, only… Oh, how I wish this had happened sooner!" she moaned. She turned, and in the glimmer of the moon, her face held such anguish that he himself could hardly bear to gaze upon it.

"I'm afraid I don't understand what it is you mean by that."

She let out a strangled sob and fell to the ground. He stood above her, looking down on her huddled form. "Oh, Derek, what we've done," she sighed.

"What we've done I suppose has been a mistake. But, 'twas one you and I were both willing to make," he finished. "Still, you seem to be quite good at deluding yourself into thinking you are faultless. No doubt, in years to come, you shall forget that you ever were willing."

"No! No, I mean, I don't think I'll forget. Oh, no, I shall never be allowed to forget!" she cried.

"Casey, I don't understand you.

"You know what I mean!" she cried. He came to her, and roughly grabbed her shoulders.

"Tell me what the meaning of this is! Tell me plainly, and without your womanly evasions!"

She fell limp, and he let her go. Sobbing, she fell against a rock. "I mean that I am in trouble, Derek. We are in trouble. In a few months' time, all shall know of our transgression…" She trailed off, and he looked away.

"Good god," he whispered. "May God help us now." Looking back at her, he said, "Are you sure."

"Yes, I am quite certain."

"What shall you do?"

Her lips parted in protest, her eyes widening in shock. "What shall I do? No, Derek, what shall we do. I am not entirely to blame for all that has happened, and I shall not be the one to be shamed."

"Why not? As it is, you are ruined," he said stoically. "If this comes out, it will ruin our families and us. Why not allow the blame to rest only where it must? Think," he urged, "think about it. It's not too late to leave town before scandal falls on you!"

Clenching her fists together, she arose abruptly, standing to meet him. She stood erect, her eyes narrowed in determination, her mouth pursed in anger. "No. I will not allow you to leave me alone to take the blame," she said. "Never will I allow my name alone to be slandered. I shall not allow people to think that I was had by some random stranger like…like a common bar girl!"

"Then what would you do? What do you think we ought to do? Confess? See what sort of blame may be laid upon our family? What do you imagine this will do to your mother? Your pride is extraordinary! You would sacrifice the reputation of your family for some pride?" he finished with disgust.

Casey took a step away, gazing listlessly past him as though in deep concentration. Finally, she said, "There is another way. A way in which we might salvage some of the reputation of the family, and of our own. Marriage. You must marry me. 'Tis the only way."

"Marriage!" he exclaimed. "Would you have us bound together? It would be miserable for the both of us! Tell me, Casey, would you marry a man such as myself? A man whom you hate?"

She glanced up at him and smiled sadly. "You are quite wrong, Derek. I never hated you, not really. I never hated you until this night. But, yes, I will do what I must, and so, I will marry you. We will tell people that we've fallen in love. They needn't know why."

"This is madness!"

"It's what we must do. In doing so, perhaps you might still go for your apprenticeship, and I may keep some modicum of my pride."

Derek sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He walked away, then walked back, continuing on for some time. Casey remained still, without emotion. Finally, he stopped. "Our punishment, I suppose, is to begin. From this point on, my dear, we are damned. Damned to the worst fate imaginable."

A week later, the banns were called.

**0o0o0o0**

**A/N: Again, I hope that you enjoyed that. Please, leave a review and tell me what you thought (good or bad).**

**The next chapter should be up within the next two weeks. There is a lot that must be done in terms of perfecting it and changing the ending slightly. Throughout the story, I have envisioned the ending one way, but recently, I have begun to entertain a different ending scene. Whatever I decide will inevitably require quite a few rewrites, so don't be surprised if it takes a while to get written. Thanks for all of your support!**


	21. Chapter Fifteen

**A/N: I totally meant to get this up last Thursday. Obviously, I failed miserably. So, accept my apologies (or don't), and read the latest chapter of this scintillating novella. Will Lizzie tie the knot? Will Casey and Derek be happy? What about poor Edwin? Is this going to turn into a Lizwin story? Is the epigraph actually related to this chapter? Well, go find out!**

**Read, and enjoy, and for goodness sakes, leave a review. It's not that difficult.**

**Enjoy!**

**Emily**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the familiar characters. I am merely a writer who wishes to play. Err…that didn't really come out quite right. Ah well. Don't sue. I'm in college :)**

**0o0o0o0o0**

_"She has known everything, borne and suffered everything, lost everything and shed her last tear…She no longer seeks to escape from anything, nor does she fear anything. Let the heavens fall, let the tides of the sea engulf her, and what can it matter, she has had her fill."  
_-Victor Hugo, _Les Miserables_

**0o0o0o0o0**

"Must we wait to marry?" Lizzie McDonald asked once again as she walked arm in arm with Peter Hopkins in late September. He chuckled, placing a kiss on the top of her head.

"You don't mean that," he said.

"Oh, but I do! You really haven't any idea how much work Mother has been putting us to in order to prepare! You'd think it was a wedding for a grand duchess, not a normal girl. I think she's making up for not throwing Casey a proper wedding…" She trailed off, and Peter took the opportunity to draw her closer to him.

"Indulge her," he said. "It will be all over soon, and then, we will be man and wife."

"At last," Lizzie sighed.

"Yes, at last," he agreed.

"Lizzie!" The couple stopped at the unmistakable sound of Edwin Venturi's voice. Since their engagement, it seemed to Lizzie that Edwin had become distant from her, offering up only the most reluctant congratulations when her engagement was announced. Now, however, with a smile upon his boyish face, he resembled the companion of her childhood, and she gave him a graceful smile.

"Why, Edwin, we were just walking about. Would you care to join us?" Purposefully ignoring the frown that flashed across her fiancé's countenance, and the responding glare from Edwin, she offered up her other arm for him to take. "There," she exclaimed, "now I have my two favorite men right near me, as it should be. Now, play nice with one another. It is a lovely day, and I want no fighting, as you men seem to do so well."

"I have no desire to quarrel with Mr. Venturi," Peter said.

"Nor I with Mr. Hopkins," echoed Edwin.

"Well, that is quite good," she said, glancing at each from under her dark lashes. "I'm far too weak to break you apart should you attempt to fight, and I'm not sure that my delicate constitution could take you hating one another."

Peter laughed. "My dear, you are anything but weak in either mind or body."

"Oh, but I am. Tell him, Edwin. Tell him how weak and helpless I was as a child."

"You only appear helpless," he returned. With a dramatic sigh, she swatted at him playfully.

"Well, I am delicate. And Peter, you must be aware that if you treat me awfully, I'll have Edwin come after you. You'd hurt him, right, Edwin?"

Edwin looked over her head at Peter. His mouth pulled tightly into a frown, he gave the man a subtle nod. "Yes, Mr. Hopkins. On this matter, she is quite right." He stood silent for a few uncomfortable moments before disengaging himself from her grasp. "Now, if you two will excuse me, I must take leave of you. Lizzie, I hope to see you home for supper." Turning toward Peter, he tipped his hat. "Mr. Hopkins."

"Mr. Venturi," the other man replied.

"He's been so odd lately," Lizzie said once he had disappeared from her curious eyes.

"You don't say," Peter muttered, glancing once more over his shoulder to see if the younger man was still within hearing range.

Oblivious, she continued her monologue. "He was always so cheery when we were little, but now, he seems so distant suddenly. Oh, of course I understand why, to an extent, and I'll not tell even you. But even upon hearing of my engagement he was sullen and so brooding. You're a man, Peter. You tell me why he would act this way."

"Perhaps he's in love with you," Peter murmured. Lizzie stopped, a gloved hand flying up to cover her mouth as she gasped.

"Peter! I may lack the intuition of some women, but I am quite certain that I would know if he were in love with me. We women have a good feel for such things, you know."

"I must say, dear, that in all of my dealings with women, I have found that such feelings are generally wrong," he interrupted, laughing.

"Hush, you. That may be, but I know Edwin, and I know his feelings. He is like a brother to me-is a brother, really-and his feelings do not transcend the realm of brotherhood. I'll ask you to be more considerate when speaking of him, for he has been my dearest friend. Indeed, you and he are the only two who know me so completely and well, and perhaps he more so than you." She had dropped his arm, and turned now, her hands on her small waist and her chin stubbornly jutting out. Peter nodded solemnly.

"I'm quite sorry for even having that thought," said he. His smirk, however, belied his words. Lizzie tossed her head in defiance.

"No, you're not. And I'm not speaking until you and he can put aside your silly issues," she said.

"Are you really that vexed with me?" he questioned lightly. Lizzie turned away from him in response.

"I am sorry for upsetting your delicate sensibilities," he chortled. She looked back at him, her eyes narrowed into a glare.

"Mr…"

"Mr! Am I to be a Mr. for now on?" he exclaimed, clutching his chest as though in distress. Despite herself, Lizzie's lips turned upwards for a moment before she fixed her expression once more into a mask of indifference.

"Mr. Hopkins, should you continue speaking of my relations with such carelessness, than yes, it will be Mr. for some time. I don't understand this animosity between you men, but I'll not have it. I've told you that you and he are the best friends I have. I fully intend on having Edwin over to our home as often as he likes. And," she added as he opened his mouth to protest, "you will not have anything to say about that."

He laughed, and they walked on.

**0o0o0o0**

A week later, Lizzie found herself alone with Edwin. He had been making himself scarce as of late, even more so following the walk with Lizzie and Peter the previous week. Edwin was not a man who strived to be seen, most unlike his brother. Like his father, Edwin was a man of lofty ambition and of a sensible nature. His youthful cunningness had given way to a more subdued nature, which suited Lizzie's natural calm. This news had, however, produced a change in his companion. She was suddenly outgoing in her actions, glowing and flirtatious, happier than he had ever seen her. The knowledge that he could not protect her from things any longer, that she was suddenly, finally, changed by the world around her, scared him, made him nervous. Edwin did not care for change in general, and this particular change filled him with a sense of dread.

As it is so often the case, he therefore attempted to distance himself from the object of these feelings. He was a studious man, hopeful in his goal of leaving the town for higher schooling, and he thus threw himself into his work. Still, Lizzie had always held a strange power over him, and when she finally requested that he walk with her, he found that he could not refuse her.

"Now Edwin," she said as they started out, "I don't want to play any feminine evasive games with you. I want to know why you've been hurting me so as of late."

"Hurting you?" he exclaimed. "How have I been hurting you, my dear Lizzie? You're so happy and cheerful now that I should think you immune to hurt."

"Edwin! You don't mean that, do you?" Something about his tone had scared her greatly; he seemed no longer the boy she had known, but a man, a distant stranger. In truth, his attempts to distance himself had worked all-to-well, and he had succeeded in almost creating an entirely different personality.

"I'm not entirely certain what you mean. You speak as though I've offended you," he said.

"Well, you have! You're acting so cold, Edwin, more like your brother than you. I don't like it, not at all. Are you angry at me? I don't know what I would have done to deserve it, and I'm sure you're being too sensitive, but do tell me!"

His countenance softened at her entreaty, and for the first time in weeks, he gently took up her little hand in his own and pressed it to his lips. "Lizzie, I haven't been vexed at you. You have been a perfect delight lately. I can't quite say what is the matter with me; perhaps it is that Mr. Hopkins. I don't like him, Liz, I don't like him at all."

"Why not? He is a good man, so much like you, really."

"He hurt you terribly, Lizzie. Do you not remember how changed you were when he left you?" Edwin shook his head. "I'm not a very confrontational man, as you well know. However, there are some things that I feel I can protect you from. Men like that are one such thing. Ah, don't protest. Even you need protection from time to time," he finished. Lizzie looked down briefly, then looked back up to meet his eyes.

"So I take it you are the reason many a suitor has left?" she questioned. He blushed, and she nudged him playfully. " 'Tis all right; there was only one suitor I really cared for, and now, he is to be mine forever."

Edwin stiffened at her words, his expression once again a mask of indifference. Lizzie sighed.

"Oh, Edwin, don't be like that! He left, if you must know, to make a name for himself. He wouldn't take me because he knew that London is no place for a girl to live, unless she is well-established and well-off. My pain was the fruit of my folly. It was a time of weakness for me, Edwin. His actions were merely to help me, not to hurt," she explained. "You care for me, so surely you understand his desire to protect me!" She took his hands in hers once more and held them, looking up at him with a desperate plea upon her face. "You do understand, don't you?" she asked once more. "Edwin! Say something!"

Finally, he seemed to relax somewhat, no longer tensed with fury. "I do understand, Lizzie."

She exhaled in relief. "Oh, thank goodness! Now you and Peter can be good friends because you understand each other. Oh, this will be wonderful for all of us. I've already told Peter that we will have an extra room in our house just for you. And you will use it, Edwin Venturi. By God, you'll use it."

He smiled down tenderly at the girl. "Of course I'll use it. But, perhaps first I ought to talk with Mr. Hopkins first, just to ensure that this whole affair is settled. There are some things that I am sure he'd like to say to me, and that I'd like to say to him. Oh, no, nothing angry, of course. We shall behave like civilized men."

"I will expect nothing less. Oh, it's good to have you back to your old self," she sighed, linking her arm in his. "You know, Peter said the strangest thing when I spoke with him about you the other day. He seems to believe that you are in love with me! Of course, I told him he was being silly, but I don't think he'd believe it. But now, once you explain everything to him, he'll understand, and he'll like you more as well."

Edwin stiffened imperceptibly, but relaxed once more when she placed her hand upon his own. He had, despite himself, forgiven her, and felt now that he would do anything to keep himself in her good graces.

**0o0o0o0**

Edwin and Peter dined at the local inn a fortnight later. As they took their seats, they silently appraised one another, each eying the other as though he were a foe to be fought. In Lizzie's absence, they did not feign camaraderie, put on a façade of toleration.

"Lizzie told me that you wished for this meeting," Peter said at length, his words so soft that Edwin had to strain to hear them over the jovial atmosphere.

"I thought it best that we come to some sort of arrangement, for her sake," Edwin responded. They were silent once more, as is the habit of men. Where women will chat in their nervousness about the most trivial of matters, the man will stare at his foe in times of tension, neither speaking, allowing a heavy silence to fall between them. But, both men knew that it was not time to allow for the silence.

"I don't believe we have ever spoken to one another without Lizzie's supervision," Peter suddenly said. "Man to man, I mean. Of course, there were those lovely letters that you sent me."

"Which, Mr. Hopkins, you continued to ignore."

Peter nodded. "I was hopeful that you would be good enough to perhaps show her them, or tell her that I had written."

"I saw no reason to. I felt that you were of no use to her, and that she was better on her own, finding a man more…reliable," Edwin replied.

"A man such as yourself, I would imagine."

Edwin started, his dark eyes narrowing as he met a cocky smirk. "Leave my personal interests out of this," he warned.

"Of course. I am quite reliable, though, as you must see. I did promise her to come back, and I did. Surely she has told you the reason that I had to leave?"

Edwin let out a humorless snort. "She did. In fact, she explained it in such a way as to make her seem like an utter fool, and you a God of sorts. She explained it all, Mr. Hopkins, and in a very neat little way."

"Well, then, as you ought to know, Lizzie is not one to tell things in exaggerated ways. She is quite the new woman, in such respects."

Edwin nodded in reluctant agreement. "I know that, Mr. Hopkins, and if she says that you meant only the best for her, then I must believe it to be true."

Peter took a sip of his watered ale, as though considering a proper response. "Than why do you not care for me, Mr. Venturi? Why the animosity between you and I? I have my suspicions, you see, and from the way you look at me now, I can see that you know what they are. Tell me, am I right?"

"You had best stay away from such a dangerous topic, Mr. Hopkins. I have seen many a man take advantage of good women. I have seen her sister ravaged by my brother, seen what happens when a wild bird is caged. It is a depressing sight, one that I do not wish for Lizzie."

Peter nodded, his suspicions all but confirmed by the other man's careful use of words. "I see. I suppose that it will be of little use assuring you that my intentions are quite true," he said at length.

Edwin nodded.

"But," Peter continued, "should we not behave like civilized men, not like strangers?"

"I think that perhaps it would be best if we did act like strangers, Mr. Hopkins," Edwin returned. Peter took another sip of ale, considering this.

"Very well. But, for her sake, I hope that we might one day embrace as brothers, rather than as enemies."

"Of course."

And thus ended their conversation. Nothing had changed; with men, it seldom does. Peter would not speak to Lizzie of his beliefs in Edwin's love for her, nor would he think anything more of it. Yet, it gave him a sense of pride to know that others were yearning for what he had, for the woman that would soon be his wife.

And Edwin did not think at all, or so he tried. In only a few months, he seemed to have acquired the ability of indifference, just as his brother had.

**0o0o0o0**

She sat perfectly still, her back erect, hands clasped, head bowed. The fire had long gone out, and the room was chilled by the damp November atmosphere. Derek looked around the room, trying to ascertain any certain cause of his wife's apparent madness. As he approached her, she moved one hand down to caress her growing stomach, her touches hesitant. When he placed his hand upon her shoulder, she did not look up, but said, "Do you think she would have liked a sister?"

Derek didn't respond. She continued, "It is so nice to have a little sister, don't you agree? Char…she would have enjoyed it." Her other hand fell limply at her side as she glanced up at her husband. "Do you know what day it is today?"

"I do."

"She was lying right there," Casey continued, as though Derek had said nothing. "Right there. She was so peaceful, too. And light. When I held her, how light she was! It was as though she wasn't even real."

"It was for the best that what happened happened," he said stiffly. "'Tis of no use dwelling upon events of the past."

Finally, Casey looked up at him, her blue eyes wide, her mouth forming a small 'o' of surprise. "How can you say such things?" she asked. "She was my baby!" she cried, hunching forward and letting her head fall to the table, sobs wracking her body.

"And I was her father," he replied, just as passionately. "You'd best not forget that, either. She was my daughter," he repeated, softer, as though he had suddenly come to some grand realization.

With herculean effort, she lifted her head slightly, revealing a reddened face, sticky with dust and tears. "Then how can you forget so easily?"

He did not respond, but rather busied himself with feeding the birds which chirped at him from their gilded jail. From the other side of the room, he heard a loud sniff as his wife heaved herself out of the chair.

"I wish I could be like you," she whispered. "I wish that I too were cynical and unfeeling. These emotions and hopes, they seem to me far more trouble than they are worth. What good has come from a life of feelings?" she whispered. He turned away, crossing his arms and staring out the window.

At length he said, "It is harder than you might think, not caring. There are days when I awake and I feel. There are days when I feel what must be hope, and how I wish to keep it, for it feels so well to me! But I don't allow myself to think much of it. It is far harder not to feel than it is to feel. But, I have become so accustomed to it that I seldom have to try anymore."

"You have the power to forget," she replied.

"Not forget, Casey, but feign ignorance. One cannot forget, not naturally, at any rate. One can only become indifferent. Or, at least, one can only try to become indifferent."

"What a pair we make," she said. "I cannot forget, and you cannot care."

Derek shrugged. "One may say so. But," he said softly, taking a tentative step towards her, "perhaps we can attempt to change." Placing a gentle hand upon her swollen stomach, he took a long breath. With a small smile, she let her hand rest upon his own.

"Perhaps we can," she repeated. And thus they stood.

**0o0o0o0**

Lizzie and Peter wed in May of 1880. Lizzie was, like her sister, only eighteen years of age, although the circumstances surrounding the wedding party were far different than they had been with Casey. The wedding itself was by no means a grand affair. Lizzie had dressed herself early in the morning, before the sun had yet risen, carefully lacing up her soft white gown, which she had ordered for this very occasion. Upon her head sat the ornate veil that her mother had worn to her first marriage and that Casey had worn to her ill-fated match, a crown of interwoven orange blossoms renewing the splendor that had been lost with time to the item.

In keeping with the bride's wishes, they were wed outside the old Salisbury Cathedral, under the shade of the Cathedral's great spire. There was no great ceremony after the wedding, either. The small party drove along to the main house, where Emily had prepared a special breakfast for the occasion. Throughout the affair, neither Lizzie nor Peter took their eyes off one another. Peter would cast a longing glance at his new bride, and she, in turn, would blush, but smile back at him.

While they ate, Lizzie would occasionally turn away from her new husband to look at her sister. Casey seemed to her uncommonly lovely, wearing her finest dress, a glow upon her cheeks as she looked down upon her squirming infant girl, whom she could hardly stand to be away from. Once in a while, she would hand the child over to her husband, who held the girl as though she were made of china. A soft smile would grace his roughened face at these times, and he almost seemed to Lizzie happy. She nudged her new husband. "Look," she whispered, tossing her head towards Casey and Derek.

"Our happiness has caught on for the moment," he observed. She shook her head.

"No, I don't think that's it. I think it's something more. But, then, when I am so happy, how can I not think everyone around me is happy as well!" she said, beaming up at Peter. But still, as she watched, she perceived a change of some sort that had come over the couple. But, she would not remember to ask, for soon, she was being undressed and placed into a traveling gown.

As she prepared to go back down, to leave with her husband for their bridal tour, a soft knock stopped her.

"Come in," she called. The door opened, and Edwin stopped in.

"I was hoping to speak with you, in private, once more before you left."

Lizzie motioned for Casey, who had been assisting her, to leave the room. Casting Edwin a curious glance, Casey did so, kissing her sister once before closing the door behind her.

"What is it, Edwin? Aren't you happy today? Why, this is the greatest day to ever happen," she exclaimed, throwing her arms around him in a friendly embrace.

"Yes, of course I am happy if you are happy. But Lizzie, there really is something that I must tell you. It isn't easy for me to say, and I know it's awful of me to tell you this now. I was going to write a letter informing you of my decision, but I couldn't do that to you."

Pulling away and tilting her head, Lizzie asked, "Edwin, what are you talking about?"

"I'm leaving in within the next week."

"As am I. But I'll be back, of course, and so will you, and we will meet each other again, very soon."

"No, Lizzie. I am leaving England."

She gasped, placing a little hand on her bosom. "Edwin!"

"I have decided to seek my fortune in Canada. I don't know quite what I'll do, but I'll find something. You see, Liz, there's nothing left for me here," he said softly. "Now! Don't cry, Lizzie! Hush, now. You don't want Peter to think that you're upset with him."

She turned away, wiping at her eyes. "I'm sorry. But Canada? What is there for you there? What is there that you can't have here, where you can still see me?"

"That is something I cannot tell you, Lizzie. My reasons for leaving are quite personal. Perhaps, one day, I shall speak to you of them. But for now, know that this is something that I must do for myself. This is what is best for me. Say you understand, Lizzie, please! I cannot bear to see you cry!"

She pulled him into a hug, grasping onto him as she had done when they were both young and innocent.

"I know we'll see one another again," she said softly. "I believe it, and I know that one day, you will find a reason to be happy."

"Just like you?" he asked.

She nodded, flashing him a watery smile. "Just like me."

**0o0o0o0**

"Hello, Derek."

Derek paused, looking down from his ladder to see the quiet face of his wife looking back up. It had been unseasonably warm all November, and she had taken advantage of the weather to take their child, whom they had christened Katharine, out that day. A warm glow seemed to radiate from her rosy cheeks as she cooed to the small bundle in her arms. Slowly, Derek made his way down, his face still shrouded in an emotionless façade.

"Has anything gone wrong?" he asked. With a small smile, Casey shook her head.

"No, 'tis all well. In face, it is better than that. I received a letter today from Lizzie," she said, her tone missing the heaviness that he had become so accustomed to as of late.

"Well, what did she have to say? It seems that it is most important," he replied, taking the infant from her arms as the child reached out towards him.

"She's with child! Oh, how wonderful it all is. She is so happy, Lizzie is."

"And so why are you happy? And why come out at all?"

"Derek! She's my sister. I want only the best for her," Casey admonished. "And, it was such a lovely day that I had to come and see you. Besides, I have been meaning to get a new bonnet for Katharine. Look how she's begun to outgrow everything already." He raised a skeptical eyebrow, and she sighed in resignation. "And, I suppose I feel responsible for her. After all, our actions did nothing to help her find a good husband. I'm just pleased that it all worked out."

"So, you're happy only because it eases your conscious?"

She shook her head, her face falling. Her eyes closed as she took a breath to steady herself. Perceiving the change, he asked, "What is it now?"

"You don't understand some things," she said softly. She reached towards him, retrieving the baby. As he stood, his arms still in the same position, as though cradling a phantom, she added, "there are some things that need not be said out loud."

"I'm sorry."

Giving him a tight smile, she turned to walk away, stopping only to turn and say, "I know."

When he returned home, he found that the burden that had been temporarily lifted had returned to her, and he felt, not for the first time, a feeling that seemed to him much akin to regret.

**0o0o0o0**

"Lizzie wrote to me today. Her husband is leaving her for a business trip, and she wishes me to join her in London while he's away. "

Derek looked up from where he sat, Katharine asleep next to him on the chair. It was a late June evening, the air chilled with the arrival of the moon. He shifted slightly, careful not to awaken his young daughter. The girl mumbled something in her slumber, but did not stir.

"She's like her father, Derek. There is nothing that will wake the child," Casey observed. Derek tenderly stroked the top of the girl's head and nodded in agreement.

Looking back up, the fleeting tenderness replaced by his usual mask, he asked, "And why must you come along?"

"She doesn't wish to be alone with the baby for that long. He'll be gone almost three weeks."

"Thomas is nearly two now. Surely Lizzie can care for him herself," he said gruffly.

"Well, never mind that. I want to go. I've always wanted to see the city. And besides, I'll not be long. I've told her that I can come for no more than a week," Casey returned.

"And Katharine? You know we can't afford a nurse, and I must work. Money is tight enough as it is."

"My mother offered to come up and care for her while I'm away. She's three, now, and certainly old enough to be separated from me, if only for a short while."

"Then why doesn't your mother go see Lizzie?"

"Because I want to see her!" Casey exclaimed. "I haven't seen Thomas yet, and I wanted to get away for a time."

Derek was silent for another minute. Finally, he said, "I'm not certain that I wish for you to go to London, Casey. It's a dirty place, they say, a wretched place, in fact. I've heard that disease runs rampant there, and you can't afford any more illness."

"Oh Derek," Casey sighed, "you don't really think that Peter would allow Lizzie to reside within the wretched part of the city, do you? They have an apartment in the West End, which I've been assured is quite fashionable. And you well know that it's been nearly two years since I was last seriously ill. Perhaps a trip will do me good." Noting no changes in his countenance, she looked at him speculatively. "Why, Mr. Venturi, could it be that you are worried for me?" she teased.

He tensed. "You mistake my worries. I'm simply thinking that it would be an awful thing for Katharine to grow up without a mother," he intoned.

"I'm sorry, I thought perhaps you…"

The playful atmosphere was gone, and they were once again strangers, looking at one another. Her unspoken words-almost a plea- hung in the air.

Feelings. Perhaps he was truly worried for her. But, it was not within their natures to discuss such things opening, or at all. The closest they could possibly come to such a frank discussion was had on a stormy night almost four years prior. The mere notion of feelings, good or bad, was foreign to the couple. That they could, in fact, feel was a dangerous enough thing, when consideration was given to their past. To voice such things would be detrimental to the fine peace that had settled upon the Venturi household. Still, they both knew, or should have known, that nothing would last forever. Casey left the next week, and, as she had promised, she returned soon after. Nothing was said of the conversation that was almost had, nor were any fears voiced.

And then, Casey got sick.

**0o0o0o0**

It was in October, a year later, Mrs. James rushed into the alehouse, where Derek was having a drink after a difficult work day. Supporting herself on a tattered old stool, gasping for air as her heavy chest rose rapidly up and down, she gasped out, "Mr. Venturi, please, you must come immediately!"

"Why, Mrs. James, it seems that it has been so long since I've seen you. But surely you didn't miss me enough to run to find me," he said, eliciting a chuckle from his companion. Straightening herself, she glared at him.

"Katharine didn't know where else to look for help, if you must know. Her mother has fallen ill, and the child is greatly concerned. Perhaps if you had come straight home…but, oh, it's not the time. Please, your wife is ill, and if you have any humanity left within you, you will follow me. I've already sent ahead for the doctor…"

"Katharine found you? She's only four!" exclaimed Derek, his eyes narrowing with worry. Placing a coin on the table, he pulled himself up. "Where is she now? Have you left her alone? Good God," he cried.

"She is safe at home, Mr. Venturi."

"Thank you, then. Charles," he said, motioning towards his companion, "see that Mrs. James is all right. I'm going to find out the meaning of this."

Once outdoors, he could not conceal the worry that manifested itself in his gate. Crouching against the brisk wind, he walked purposefully home, breaking out into a jog as he came in sight of the cottage and saw the doctor's familiar carriage.

"What has happened?" he exclaimed, walking in to find Katharine kneeling by her mother, her large blue eyes wet with tears. Casey lay quite still, her face pallid as the doctor muttered something under his breath. Derek took a seat nearby, running a hand through his unruly hair. "God, not again," he whispered.

"Mr. Venturi?"

"Yes?"

"The girl says she fainted. Has she suffered from dizzy spells lately?"

Derek shook his head. "I…I can't say. I've…been busy."

He pretended not to notice the look of disapproval upon the man's face.

"Katharine, why don't you go and play in the other room, darling," a voice rasped. Derek and the doctor both turned towards the woman, who, with some effort, had raised her head off the bed. Managing a weak smile, she sqeazed the little hands of the girl, who looked up at her father.

"Go on, Katharine," he said. "Do as you mother says." The girl nodded, reluctantly getting up and wondering into the kitchen.

"I'm sorry, doctor, for bringing you out here. I don't quite know what came over me," Casey rasped.

"Mrs. Venturi…"

"Casey, let the man look at you! You look as though you were a ghost!" her husband said, moving to sit by her. Turning to look up at the older man, he said, "go ahead and do your examination."

Casey did not hear the rest of the exchange, for she soon fell into a restless slumber. When she awoke, day had broken, and Derek was still seated by her side. Slowly, she reached her hand to her lips, kissing her fingers and placing them on Derek's hand. Content and more at peace than she had been in so long, she once again drifted back to sleep.

"What happened to the birds?"

Derek turned at the unexpected voice. Casey stood before him, a shawl wrapped around her slender frame as she steadied herself.

"You shouldn't be up," said he. After a moment, he added, "Katharine tried to play with them. She set them free."

"Good," she replied. Though her face was still a sickly pallor, it seemed to him that some life had at last returned to her. Her countenance was that of a woman at peace, an openness marking her features.

"What did the doctor say?" she asked, taking a seat at the rickety table.

He looked away, his glance moving from the fireplace to the bird cage, back and forth, anywhere but where she sat. Pulling herself out of her seat, she slowly walked up to him, placing a trembling hand on his cheek and softly pulling his face towards her.

"What did he say, Derek?" she asked again, her blue eyes wide and curious.

"He said…" Derek started, coughing, as though something were lodged in his throat, "He said that you have a slight illness, but you should be fine with proper care."

She gave a soft laugh, which was interrupted as a cough racked her body. "You have always been honest with me, Derek. From the beginning, you never allowed me to live under any illusions as to your nature, or mine. Please, do not start telling me lies now."

He took a handkerchief from his pocket, slowly dabbing at the dots of red that stained her mouth. She nodded again, as though she understood.

"I'm dying, aren't I?" The lightness of her tone belied the seriousness of her words, and he started at the casual way in which she stated so tragic a fact.

"He can't know for sure, Casey. You know that he is only a country quack…"

"Don't, Derek. He's right. I already knew, even before I got sick, even before he came. I just knew that I wasn't going to be here for much longer. I always knew, I think."

"Casey," he insisted, "there are treatments, there are ways."

She tilted her head, her guileless eyes gazing inquisitively at him. "But Derek, it's okay. I've been preparing myself for this. Somehow, I knew that this was happening. It was London, I think, when I visited Lizzie last year. Yes, that must be it, because a fortnight later, I awoke and thought to myself, I'm going to die soon."

Derek opened his mouth to protest, but she placed a finger on his lips.

"Hush, now. This is the end of our story, Derek. Our happy ending. It's the only ending that could have happened."

"You're delirious. Surely you don't mean to allow yourself to die without a fight!" he exclaimed. "I thought I knew you better, though you were stronger than this!"

She shook her head, smiling tenderly up at him. "Oh, but I'm so tired of fighting. I'm so tired of denying truths, believing in falsehoods. You were always right; I never did see things as they were. But that's over now. I'm not going to live my life in fear of the unknown. I did, you know. Every day, I would fear that which I could not see. I feared you, feared the world, feared everything. Maybe 'twas death I feared. Oh, I can't remember."

He grabbed her hand, pressing it urgently to his lips. "Had I been less indifferent…"

"It would have changed nothing. Happiness was never for you and me, Derek. My love for you was never easy, nor was your love for me. I ask for nothing from you, and I never did. Fate would not allow it to be otherwise. But now, we are allowed our happiness, however briefly it may last. We couldn't go on like this forever. I don't know how much longer we have, and I don't suppose the doctor gave you a time line."

He moved to answer her, but she again silenced him. "I don't want to know," she said, leaning into him and wrapping her frail arms around him. "It could be months, weeks, perhaps a year."

He tenderly pressed a kiss upon her head. "I don't want to lose you," he said softly.

"Oh Derek, don't be upset," she murmured. "We have time yet."

"Time for what?"

She looked up at him, smiling again. "Oh, I don't quite know. Time for many things, I suppose. Time for happiness. Time for prosperity. Time for family, even. Katharine will, after all, need to know how to take care of her father. We have time for goodbyes. Perhaps we even have time enough to love."

His lips twitched upwards as he pulled her closer to him. He felt her stand up taller, placing a light kiss at the corner of his mouth before settling back into his arms, her head resting upon his broad chest.

"Yes," he agreed, "I suppose we have time enough

**0o0o0o0**

**A/N: Stay tuned! The epilogue is coming out soon! In it, a prodigal character will return, and we'll find out if this is really a sad ending or not. Yes, I meant for that to be ambiguous. It's coming, and it's coming soon (like, within the next week soon. By next Thursday, this story will be completely over.**

**Epic authors note with explanations, thoughts, and other such goodies will come with the epilogue. Or, you know, instead of waiting to find out why I did what I did, or why I chose to end it in this way, you could always ask in a review. I'll always answer a question. But, y'know, you have to review first. Also, I am going back this summer to edit the story. So please let me know things that you liked, things that you would have liked to see changed, etc. Any parts that you thought were extraneous? Any recurring errors that you found? I can't fix it unless I know what you're thinking. So, give an author a hand and help!**

**And you can do it all through a review.**

**Thanks for reading, and I hope that this is satisfactory. There is actually an interesting story about the ending. Ask me about it, and I'll tell all.**

**Emily**


	22. Epilogue

**A/N: Last chapter, so, we'll wait until the end for the epic authors note/end credits. Remember: Review! Oh, and pay close attention to the words. There are some small references as to what has been happening with the rest of the family ;)**

**Emily**

**Disclaimer: No character that plays a large part is mine.**

**0o0o0o0**

Invariably, it is not what we have done that people will remember us by, but rather, our last impressions made upon them. For all the great deeds in the world, the man who dies in debt will forever be remembered as a drunkard, an untrustworthy man. Likewise, the miser who dies having done only one small thing in his lifetime, towards the end, will be lauded as a great man.

This is not, of course, fair, nor is it what we prefer to think, but it is nevertheless true.

They no longer remembered the reputation of the couple. Indeed, to remember him as anything other than a man who loved his wife and child completely seemed to them utterly incomprehensible. Similarly, to remember her as they once did, as anything other than the visage of perfection that her husband had build around her, seemed blasphemous. So devoted was he, so adoring, that it seemed impossible to reconcile the Madonna that had died with the haughty girl that had lived.

Ipso facto, after the fact, they could not think otherwise. To dare to remember their grievances in regards to the family was intolerable, so strong was his grief after her death, and so unshakable was his devotion to her memory. His love for his daughter, her legacy, was an overwhelming sight, for he lavished the girl, and would have given his life to see her happy. The girl's marriage-for it was inevitable that such a girl would make a good match-would undoubtedly break this fragile man, whom, it was said, stayed in this world only for the sake of his daughter.

It was a weekly occurrence to see him kneeling by the grave of his late wife, his head bowed, hands clasped, unmoving as though in prayer. He was always silent, save for a rare rush of whispers that would escape his lips, the words incomprehensible to anyone standing by.

It was on such a day that Sam Jenkins made his return to Dorchester.

It had been nineteen years since he last saw the town he had grown up in. After his dismissal by Casey, he had traveled as a journey man, taking jobs here and there, as far away from Dorchester has possible. He had spent the previous five years in Scotland, at work on some restoration project that he cared nothing about. And now, he stood once more on the familiar streets, facing the old alehouse that he remembered so vividly as the haunting place of Derek Venturi, glancing around for the familiar face that he had once loved so dearly.

It had not been his intention to come. However, he had received a letter recently informing him of Mrs. James' death, from which he was, apparently, to profit. He had come back to honor his old patron and friend, and he fully intended upon leaving in the morning.

Hefting his bag onto his shoulder, he gazed resolutely ahead, forcing his eyes not to stray from his path, trying not to look for the woman who still haunted his dreams. He shifted his gaze to the ground upon finding it difficult not to look around, falling into deep contemplation.

He was suddenly roused from his thoughts as he felt himself collide with another body.

"Excuse me!" he heard a female voice exclaim.

"I'm sorry, Miss…" he started, trailing off as he lifted his eyes to her face.

Blue eyes. That was what he noticed first. Blue eyes set in a pretty, heat-shaped face, framed by soft lashes. Her full lips curled upwards slightly as she said something that he didn't quite catch. With effort, he managed to keep himself from reaching out for her, from reaching out to brush his hand softly against her rosy cheeks.

"Sir, are you all right?" she asked again. Mutely, he nodded, backing up quickly. Straitening her hat, the girl (for she was no older than eighteen) gave him a curious look, no doubt due, in part, to the strange mania that seemed to have overcome him. She bestowed upon him another smile before wishing him a good day and strolling off in the other direction.

Yet, he did not move. He stood still, watching her retreat, studying her graceful movements, the way her dark curls bounced upon her slender shoulders. He clutched his hand over her heart, leaning against a wall to stay standing. His mind struggled to come up with an explanation for what he had just seen. When he had looked up, when he had met those beguiling eyes, he had seemed a lad once more, gazing into the haunted eyes of Casey Venturi. Of course, the girl he had just seen did not carry the weight that had been a part of Casey, nor was her smile forced, laden with pain and suffering. That girl had been free, as he imagined Casey had been before her unfortunate marriage.

"Sir! Ye look as though you've just seen some terrible ghost."

Sam raised his head, looking up at an old man who stood by the door of the shop. He said nothing, but only looked on, following her with his eyes, fighting the urge to run after her. He faintly heard the older man chuckle.

"Ah, 'twas Miss Venturi that got you. The girl will do that to a man."

"Miss Venturi?" he repeated. Did that mean that after Charlotte…

Of course, the possibility that the girl was not Casey's crossed his mind. After all, he remembered he telling him that she had a sister, and that her mother had a new baby of her own.

"…And I say, she's a good 'un, if ever I saw such a girl. Why, ye okay, sir? Ha, ha, I'd not go after her. She been goin' wi' the mayors son recently, and 'sides, her father'd 'bout kill anyone who dared mess wi' her."

Sam turned his attention back to the man, nodding absently as though he were listening.

"You look as though you could use a spot o' ale," the man continued. "I'm headed out myself. Why don't you come wi' me?"

"Of course," Sam replied, blindly following his new companion. He stopped, briefly, remembering that Derek had been a staple at the pothouse they seemed to be heading towards. However, as he thought about the lovely face, thought about that white skin, rosy cheeks, he perceived a change within himself. If, in fact, the girl was the child of Casey, he had to know what had happened. Why had she stayed? He imagined that perhaps she would have had no other choice. Perhaps she believed it her punishment for whatever she had done. Had he coerced her, forced himself upon her? Sam had spent the past nineteen years imagining that somehow, she had escaped, and somewhere she lived happily.

"You mentioned Miss Venturi's father," he started as he walked alongside the shorter villager.

"What of it?"

"I knew a Mr. Venturi here, a long while ago. I'm wondering if he could be the same man I once knew."

"I suppose. Derek Venturi's been here for as long as I can remember. At least twenty years, I think."

Sam was silent for a long time, daring not to draw suspicion of his motives. A drink, he figured, would perhaps do him well. A drink to old times, to the mystery of Casey and Derek Venturi, he thought bitterly.

"A six o' brandy," he said, taking a seat at a worn table. From the looks of things, the tavern had changed very little. The stale scent of drink still hung in the air, mixing with the sweat of men fresh from work. Rowdy laughter of course women echoed through the rotting room, and Sam could distinctly remember a night, so long ago, when a woman of grace had entered, bravely facing a drunkard husband.

A skinful later, he turned towards his new companion.

"You said only father earlier, when you talked of Miss Venturi. What of her mother? He was married, was he not?"

"Are ye still on that?" the man laughed.

"What's he askin' about Miss Venturi for?" another man, some years younger than Sam, asked.

"Says he knew her father."

"Well, if you're lookin' for him, you'll not find him 'round here," a youth piped up, a silly grin etched on a plain, long face. "He's not the sort to drink wi' the likes of us. Didn't ye' tell him that, Joe?" he asked, looking at the older man.

The man, Joe, shrugged. "He looked as though he could use a drink. Besides, if he knew Mr. Venturi already, he'd know better than to…"

"Mr. Venturi," Sam said coldly, "was, the last time I saw him, a cold drunkard. I can't imagine what sort of man that you have described, but 'tis not he who I knew once. "

A silence fell over the room as they peered curiously at Sam, hushed whispers breaking out at random. Those who had been around for many years considered what the man had said, and remembered, vaguely, a scene many nights ago, when a young bride had come looking for her philandering husband. But was that man Mr. Venturi? They tried to reconcile the two images: the young, proud man with the aged, tired visage that had long been associated with Mr. Venturi. No, it could not have been the same man. Finally, the man known as Joe ventured to speak.

"Sir, I've been here for many years, and I can't say I quite recall Mr. Venturi as a young man. Perhaps he was as you said, but ever since his wife-Miss Venturi's mother- well, a quieter man I've never seen."

"What of her mother? What did she do?"

"Her mother? Why, she's been dead for, what, at least ten years, I believe. It about tore the man up. I daresay we would have lost him as well, had it not been for the girl."

The glass slipped from his hand, shattering onto the floor. Vaguely, he heard voices, speaking to him, asking if he was all right, but he could not respond.

Dead. Casey, dead. What had happened? If it had been ten years, then it couldn't have been in childbirth, unless they had another child. Had he killed her? He knew that Derek Venturi had the capability to be a very dangerous man. Perhaps he had finally poisoned her, either with his words or through more diabolical means. Had he been drunk? Perhaps that was why he was suddenly hearing Derek spoken of as though he were a saint.

"How?" he whispered, his roughened voice barely audible above the surrounding voiced.

"Surely you can't be expectin' us to remember that far back," one man said with a laugh. "What's your interest with her, anyways?"

"I was good friends with her before I left," he replied softly.

Dead!

People were speaking, losing interest in this stranger, but Sam took no notice of anyone. Placing his money on the table, he stumbled out of the building and headed towards the Three Mariners.

As he went to his room, refusing supper, though he had walked a long ways that day and had not eaten since early, he vowed silently that, come morning, he resolved to call upon Mr. Venturi. There were answers to be found, and he felt he owed it to Casey to find them.

It seemed later that fate had willed him to come back at this particular moment. When he awoke the following morning, the courage brought about by the gin ale had receded somewhat, and he remembered for the first time since seeing the girl the reason for his being there. However, though he willed himself to forget all that he had heard the following night, when he went down to breakfast, he found that the conversation had shifted to a Miss Katharine Venturi.

"…She's going on a tour of Italy with her aunt-Mrs. Hopkins, and her cousin, I heard. It seems that Mrs. Hopkins has it in her head that it is necessary for a young lady to see the world around her."

"She'll do well outside this town," the lady of the inn said, pushing her matronly body between the chairs and tables to reach the patrons. "I always did wonder why her father never sent her to be schooled away from here."

"He tried, I've heard. Never could let her go, though. Why, remember a year back, when she went away to Canada to see his brother and his wife? Doctor Jones says that he was near death the entire time."

" 'Twas not ill, you zany fool," the woman corrected, a large hand moving swiftly to box the speakers ears. "He'll survive long enough to see her happy."

Sam pushed his plate away, abruptly standing up. He muttered his thanks before leaving the room, daring not to believe what he had just heard, and trying to focus his mind on the business of Mrs. James.

**0o0o0o0**

Said business, as it turned out, took up the greater part of the day. It was nearing three when he finally headed towards the old graveyard, where he planned to pay his respects to his old friend. By that point, he had reluctantly given up hope of speaking to Mr. Venturi, and he figured that, undoubtedly, it was for the best.

However, he was surprised to find that there was already somebody at Mrs. James' grave. A slender figure stood hunched over, a rose lying upon the fresh earth. Perceiving footsteps, she turned around, uttering a small "oh!" of surprise.

Sam stopped, staring shamelessly at the girl, whom he now knew to be Miss Katharine Venturi. Perceiving his stare, Katharine demurely lowered her eyes, a blush, much like that of her mothers, sweeping across her face.

"I'm sorry, Miss. I didn't mean to startle you," he said at length. "I knew…I was great friends with this lady."

Katharine nodded. "Are you the Mr. Jenkins in her will, then? I heard her speak of you when I was younger." Her voice was soft and well-bred, carrying the grace and confidence that her mother had lost in her youth. Once again, Sam could see this girl as what Casey could have been, once, long ago.

"Sir, are you all right?" she was asking. He shook his head, as though waking from a haze, and gave her a small smile. "I'm sorry for bothering you here," she continued. "Father is visiting with Mother, and he wished to be alone. Besides, Mrs. James was a dear friend of ours. She was one of Mother's oldest friends here, from what I remember."

"Do you remember much about your mother?" he couldn't help but ask. She shook her head.

"She died when I was only six. She was a good woman, though," she continued. She looked at him for a moment before asking, "Why?"

"I knew her, a long time ago," he softly answered. "Thank you, and I'm sorry to have bothered you."

He turned away. "Wait," Katharine called, "I don't mind if you come here as well. I was about to leave."

"I just remembered that there was something I had to do. She would very much understand," he said, motioning towards the grave. He continued to walk away, but paused. "Miss Venturi," he called back.

"Yes?"

"Your father-did he love her? Your mother, I mean"

A soft smile flitted across full lips. "Yes, sir. He loved her more than I've ever seen a man love before."

Content with her answer, he gave her a parting wave before continuing his search for closure to the past.

He looked around for his old nemesis, he eyes sweeping over the graves, looking for the proud figure. He saw nothing, save that of a man, hunched over, like Atlas, bearing the burdens of the world upon his broken body. The man was saying something, as though in conversation with the stone before him. Sam dared not approach, although it seemed to him that the man was indifferent to all that was around him.

Sam watched him, awed by the sorrow and patience that seemed to surround him in a visible aura. His heart broke for him, and yet he wondered at his devotion. No words were said; it was unnecessary. Sam felt as though he were a voyeur, intruding upon a moment of privacy, and yet, he could not move.

Finally, the man turned away. He looked up, and briefly, his eyes met Sam's. The man tilted his hat in greeting. "Mr. Jenkin's," he murmured as he passed. Surprised at the use of his name, suspicion welling up within him, Sam quickly moved towards the grave that had, moments ago, been the scene of such wonderment.

He gasped as he looked upon the engraved stone. It was bare of the usual epitaphs, save for a few words engraved upon the worn stone

_Herein Lies Casey Venturi, Beloved Wife and Mother_

And under the title, small and discreet, it read:

_At last, she is free. _

And placed gently upon the grass, there lay a white rose.

"Goodbye," he whispered, pressing his fingers to his lips and softly touching the stone. Then, he moved to walk away, for he knew now that there was nothing left to be said. He understood at last what she had meant that day, so long ago, when she had told him that she could not love him, that she could never leave her husband.

Indeed, she had been loved. She had been loved as she ought to be, as he had hoped she would be. Yes, she had been loved.

Just not by him.

And with that realization, a smile flitted across his face, and he felt, for the first time in many years, content.

She had been loved, and that was all he needed to know.

**-Cue dramatic end music-**

**0o0o0o0**

**A/N: And so ends our journey, my friends. I cannot thank everyone enough for their support throughout this lengthy writing process. To everyone who reviewed or favorited me, thank you so much. You don't know how much that means to me.**

**Originally, the ending was decidedly sadder. I was going to show Casey's death, in a melodramatic mix of confessions and blatant symbolism. However, due to readers continually asking me for a happy ending, I changed it, and thus, what you read was born. I had always, however, intended on adding an epilogue from Sam's point of view. It was just a necessity once I had decided that Casey would die (a decision that was made very early in the story). As I've explained to some of you, I felt that this ending was the happiest that could be given. A few moments of happiness and bliss I felt were better than a lifetime of angst and fighting that would have inevitably occurred. As I've made it a point to show, Casey and Derek's relationship in this story is beyond twisted. Much like Catharine and Heathcliff, they aren't really happy people. I've made a point never to say outright whether they actually love one another-I'm leaving that to you-but their relationship is based upon passion in the form of hate.**

**At any rate, I'll leave the analyzing up to the reader. Look out for a new "chapter" alert, as I am putting all of the deleted scenes at the end of the story in an effort to clean it up. Take a look at that new chapter, as it will have the original ending (or, what the original ending was going to be like. I wouldn't have actually posted it as it).**

**In terms of future projects, no, there will be no sequel (and I can hear a collective sigh of relief at that announcement). This is actual my farewell story to the LWD fandom. I have had fun, and I'll still probably read some of the stories, but I'm just not into writing it anymore. Perhaps one day, I'll have the inspiration and just have to write something. But don't plan on it. Right now, I have ideas floating around for an "Office" one-shot and a "Twilight" one-shot. So, if you're interested in either fandom, keep a lookout for those :)**

**And so ends this epic note. I hope that you enjoyed this journey. I know I did.**

**And remember, leave a review, for old times' sake. Let's end this on a happy note for me, shall we?**

**Emily**


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